


Twice Alien

by Seaward



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Character of Color, Circus, Cultural Differences, Genetics, Identity Issues, M/M, Mutant Powers, Wraith, mentions of marvel universe characters, mentions of past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 00:38:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 126,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12594144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seaward/pseuds/Seaward
Summary: John Sheppard AKA John Serano AKA Bug Boy, stumbles into the Stargate Program via Dr. Beckett's back door.  Rodney McKay has known John for years, but only recently discovered he could talk. None of them are expecting who or what they find when they reach Atlantis...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Always Human](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7835368) by [nagi_schwarz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz). 



> This story is set in 2004 (aside from the epilogue) and is AU in ways that change several characters. Most notably, John and Rodney are both several years younger than canon and have a different backstory (partly inspired by Nagi_Schwartz's "Always Human", thanks!). Also, AU discoveries lead to an earlier (brief) expedition to Atlantis, some different tech, and mentions of Marvel characters. There may be slight spoilers for several musicals (full appreciation to South Pacific, Wicked, Miss Saigon, 1776, Les Miserables, Chess and while I'm at it, Johnny Cash and Hong Yin), but any spoilers for Stargate Atlantis are probably so AU that someone who hadn't seen the show wouldn't know what happened in canon. Finally, I seem to have borrowed a name from the Library Bards, which I think was completely unintentional, but they are an awesome nerd parody band so everyone should watch/listen to their work and know they have no connection I'm aware of with any character who may share their name in this work. Finally, thanks to Diony and Elayna for each reading a draft version and helping catch mistakes. All remaining mistakes are mine.

**July, 2004- Earth**

They watched him. Upside down. He became what they saw until they left.

#

Rodney McKay was alone in the shop trailer. It was well past midnight and closing when he heard the explosion. A boom he could feel through floor and walls was followed by popping sounds. Past experiments in labs (and elsewhere) at Caltech had taught the scientist a lot about explosions. He could guess one of the carnies had picked up illegal fireworks earlier in the month, probably a quarter stick by the sound of the boom from a hundred meters away.

The machine shop trailer Rodney had designed his first summer with Serano's Modern Wonders was parked beside the office trailer where the owner lived. For this stop in Boulder, both were tucked away on a dirt road above the field where the performers had circled the exhibit wagons and set up the carnival rides and games out in front. Glancing through his trailer window, Rodney could see the crew gathered around a can fire in the center of the circle.

The wagons were mostly modern RVs and camper trailers painted in sparkly psychedelics by the latest artist girl, whatever her name was. There was too much turnover among the carnies year to year for Rodney to clutter up his genius brain by trying to remember their names. Despite returning for seven summers to create the wonders that turned Mr. Serano's traveling show from a band of Burning Man wannabes into a more cutting edge experience than most non-engineers could appreciate, Rodney was never one of them.

He had reason to appreciate his isolation as the garbage can fire in the center of the party shook with two more bangs in rapid succession. Everyone dancing and drinking in the center of the wagons stepped back in a wave of mass realization.

Silhouetted against the fire, smoke, and sparkles, Rodney saw Serano himself dash forward to throw three more quarter sticks into the fire.

"What kind of an idiot throws explosives into a can fire like that?" Rodney's muttering was cut off by a ripping sound and screams. The metal trash can tore apart over the course of three booms. Flaming debris shot out to the circle of wagons. Fires sprang up as far away as some trailer roofs. At least one woman screamed as a narrow passage between trailers collapsed in flames as she tried to escape. Someone jumped onto a roof from outside the circle—Bug Boy by the way he moved.

"Oh, shit," Rodney said as he ran out of his shop and down toward the laser and holograms trailer. He'd been ready to lose all his creations any time Serano let him walk away. But he couldn't lose the arc reactor prototype he had in there today.

#

John had been lounging in his hammock, no longer needing to show off for the marks. Comfortably unobserved, he'd been listening to the noisy party, smelling the acrid smoke, and watching the brief show of fireworks that rose up above the inner circle. His Bug Boy enclosure was on the outside of that circle, anchored to the decorated, outward side of his wagon. The walls and roof of his cage were solid metal bars with industrial strength brackets attaching them to his trailer and semi-opaque, black mosquito netting covering the top and sides. There were square cut outs, like viewing windows for the marks to peer at him. His running wheel anchored directly to the trailer, stage right. His hammock, trapeze, and hand straps were all stage left. Every bar was strong enough for him to swing from or hang upside down.

The sounds of real damage and screams had John out through his roof escape hatch in a heartbeat. Perched atop his trailer he smelled too much gunpowder and knew how the contained fire had spread to every edge of the dodecagon enclosed by the twelve exhibition wagons.

He saw Serano sprawled on the ground, engulfed in flames and impaled by a piece of ripped metal. No one could have saved him.

This year's art girl, who called herself Ruby, was rolling on the ground. Her hair and frilly scarf were on fire. Sam, who ran the Laser Shootout booth, rushed in with his jacket to help smother the flames.

Kacper, the small bald man who oversaw the Trained Rats Amazing Reprogrammable Maze next to John's trailer, was receiving no such assistance as his frilly show coat burned. John leapt from trailer roof to trailer roof until he could jump down next to Kacper.

"Drop and roll," John shouted into his ear. The little man just stared, as if surprised the Bug Boy could speak. In a flash, John tackled the man and used his own body to roll him on the ground and smother the flames. The warmth around him felt good, even where flames bit into his skin. The heat and pain threw him back in time for a moment…

#

_Johnny woke up coughing. Crackling sounds came from below. His face was hot and he couldn't breathe._

_His poster of Evel Knievel caught fire. For a moment, Johnny stared. Why was there fire in his room?_

_Smoke. He was breathing smoke. Stop, drop, and roll. Contrary to popular belief, Johnny did listen in school. He wasn't on fire, so he crawled across the floor. The door was hot, burning hot beneath his hand._

_A voice like his teacher, giving their fifth-grade emergency lecture, urged him to go out the window instead. But Davey was only in third grade. He might not know that lecture yet. His bedroom was down the hall, next to Mom and Dad. If Johnny opened the door, he could reach them all._

_His left hand burned when it touched the doorknob. The door yanked open as he tried to pull his hand back. Fire raced up his arm like a million ants biting him. Like a big fire monster devouring him. He tried to drop and roll. All he could do was burn and choke._

#

"Cholera!" Kacper swore. John knew enough Polish, all of it from overhearing Kacper, to know the man was cursing rather than warning of disease. John lifted his slightly singed sometimes neighbor over his shoulder. The musty smell of the man's tobacco and fear momentarily overwhelmed the scents of smoke and gunpowder.

John carried him out between the Robo Wars Arena and the Magical Plants Terrarium. While most other gaps between trailers had screens or curtains that were now on fire, John monitored safe escape routes as well as hiding places at all times. That was how he also spotted Ziva, the Bendy Child, tucked up above a swamp cooler on the back wall of the Laser Holodeck.

He handed Ziva off to Kacper well away from any fire damage and rushed back to where he heard coughing. Of course, Rodney was inside the Laser Holodeck, clutching some piece of tech to his chest as he waved an arm and crawled through the now burning, smoke-filled trailer. The idiot-genius had clearly run into the fire to rescue one of his inventions.

John dragged him out, welcoming the scents of solvent and coffee that identified Rodney even in a smoking hovel. Had John been the type to talk the way Rodney did, he would have told him at length how ridiculous his actions were. Instead, he handed him off to the mechanic, Pili, who knew well enough how to protect Rodney from himself. Then John threw himself back into the fire, embracing the heat that baked through his skin—determined to leave no one behind.

#

It was nearly five in the morning by the time Rodney made it back to the shop trailer. A bare bulb central light was enough to keep him from tripping on tool boxes or yesterday's clothes. He carefully pulled the miniaturized arc reactor from his jacket and placed it in the bottom of the roller bag where he kept his personal projects. Then he used his jacket to pad around it.

Most of the carnies were at the hospital now, either as patients or keeping vigil, but Rodney didn't belong with them. He'd never been part of the pseudo-family, only the tech guru who created new exhibits every summer. Looked like the summer job that never ends was finally ending.

Serano was the only one dead. Rodney thought he should grieve, but the man died of his own stupidity. Besides, the showman would have enough mourners with all his carnie camp and the string of people he'd charmed across the country. Rodney would miss his bots, but as far as he was concerned, the namesake of Serano's Modern Wonders was nothing but a conman. Maybe Rodney had fallen for his lines as a desperate fifteen-year-old with a sister to support right after their parents died, but the man's manipulations became more blatant every time Rodney tried to quit…

#

_Rodney was rigging up two robots for a tightrope act when Serano swaggered up beside him with his flashy red coat and booze on his breath. They hadn't even been in town two hours._

_"Every summer, you get better and better," Serano laughed as if it was funny._

_"You know I could send all this to you without wasting my whole summer. Pili could set it up from my instructions, and you'd only have to pay me half as much." Rodney had thought it out. He could make a deal that would be to Serano's benefit as well._

_"Aww, you love it here and you know it." The showman tried to loop his arm around Rodney's shoulder, but Rodney climbed a ladder to adjust the end of the tightrope where it connected to a trailer. Rodney was pretty sure Serano knew how much Rodney hated him and the show at this point, though he didn't really mind the unique building projects._

_"I'll be eighteen next year with my bachelor's degree completed. I need a real job if I'm going to send Jeannie to a decent college." In truth, Jeannie currently cared more about a summer program in Europe that her rich friends had all been talking about._

_"Oh come now, that girl's as smart as you and pretty, too. She'll get a full ride wherever she goes to college. And you don't want a real job. You plan to earn a doctorate as soon as humanly possible and put three letters after your name."_

_It was amazing how Serano could always see through Rodney's deceptions, even half drunk. "I could earn a lot more in a summer, and I need legitimate work experience."_

_"I'll put you on the payroll all official if you like, but I'd have to take out half for housing and taxes."_

_"Housing!" Rodney waved an arm and had to rescue a falling robot. Clearly, he should activate the magnetic safety feet to avoid mishaps during set up—mishaps due to distracting, idiotic circus bosses. "I sleep in the shop trailer above a workbench."_

_"Which I keep exactly as you designed it even when you're gone nine months of the year."_

_"You keep it so Pili can maintain my creations." Pili's own trailer was her living area, with only a box of tools for basic maintenance. She was sharp enough to learn from Rodney, but she could never equal his creations._

_"See, I only claim three months a year, at your convenience, to update the trailer and train Pili on your newest creations. Where else will you find such an understanding employer who doesn't mind your dubious credentials and shady supply deals?"_

_"You roped me into your criminal activities when I was a child. Anyone investigating would say you kidnapped me." Rodney was ninety percent sure the law was on his side, but the way Jeannie sulked and berated him lately, he wasn't sure she'd help if their case went to court. Truth be told, he didn't have a great track record for people taking his side in anything that involved human interactions._

_"Kidnapped?" Serano breathed in sharply as if honestly shocked, and Rodney knew he could con a jury as easily as he conned everyone else. "I have papers showing you were legally emancipated. An unschooled businessman like me couldn't be expected to know any better. Though if someone looks into it, they might wonder at a fancy college boy like you who faked his papers, hid his income, and kidnapped his little sister. How are you and Jeannie getting along these days anyway?"_

#

Rodney pulled off his shirt and inspected the gauze covered burns on his right arm. The flames hadn't even touched him, but they'd come close enough to burn. It was worth it. He'd rescued the arc reactor, the one piece in his current light show van that no one else could replicate. Now all he needed was a solid night's sleep and he could drive back to Caltech to defend his second PhD thesis a few weeks early.

A buried cough from his loft bed froze the scientist in his tracks. He wanted to grab a wrench from the workbench, but the best he could find was a cold soldering iron. He hefted it while saying, "Who's there?" and moving to better see the mess of blanket he covered with a tarp when he wasn't sleeping.

"Just me." The words were followed by another wheezing cough.

"B—John? Show your face so I know it's you. What are you doing in my bed? You didn't touch any of my open projects did you? Oh crap, you heard your dad died, didn't you?" Rodney had no delusions as to his own social skills, but in the last few weeks, he'd kind of, possibly, become friends with the Bug Boy. He still struggled to call him John after years of not knowing his name.

A single hand with a noteworthy finger sticking up emerged from the blankets. The hand was distinctly blue, proof enough it was John, even if the skin looked smoother in this light than Rodney remembered from late nights spent talking at the top of the Ferris wheel. "He's not my dad, more like my owner. I would have been free next month anyway."

Rodney didn't know what to make of that. Maybe he shouldn't consider himself John's friend if he'd never heard him talk about being owned or becoming free. It would have been simpler to just sleep, pack his tech, and be done with Serano's dubious Wonders once and for all, but there was a person in his bed, and that person was John Serano, known to most only as Bug Boy.

"Look, I don't know what to say to stuff like that, and I really need to sleep." Rodney ran a hand through his hair and the smell of smoke around him doubled.

More coughing came from the lump on his bed. Rodney wondered if anyone had checked John for smoke inhalation, not that EMTs with their brand of medical voodoo could be expected to know how to handle someone who was part bug, or whatever John really was. Very little at Serano's was ever what it appeared. "Just let me stay 'til morning, and I'll be fine. I heal fast."

"Dawn's less than an hour away, and it's not like I'll get any sleep with you hacking away."

"Fine." John threw the blankets and tarp back in a sudden surge and jumped down from the loft. "I'll just get out of your way."

John was pushing his way to the door. Rodney got a good look as he passed beneath the central light. His blue skin lay shiny and smooth where it had once been scaly or knobby. His blue hand especially looked much closer to human. Only blue and slightly shiny, like a healing burn.

"Oh my god, how much of you was burned? Why weren't you sent to the hospital?"

John rolled his eyes as if Rodney was the stupidest man on Earth rather than the smartest. "Right, hospital. I'll be going now."

Something made Rodney step between John and the trailer door. It wasn't as if he cared about people. He was barely friends with John, had no clue what issues surrounded John and his now deceased father, or whatever the relationship was. And John clearly didn't want his help, or… "Why were you in my bed?"

"Welllll," John drew the word out in a most unnecessary way, "Possibly because my trailer and every worldly possession is now a burned-out husk? Your shop and the owner's trailer were the only two far enough away not to burn, and I needed a warm place to crash for a few hours. Got any water?"

John's voice had turned raspy, like his cough had been. Rodney pulled a bottle of water from his mini-fridge and handed it over. He couldn't miss the way John's eyes caught on the other contents. He waved his arm dramatically, "What else do you want?"

A few minutes later John was eating his blue Jell-O and an energy bar. By the second Jell-O, third energy bar, and third water, Rodney asked, "Didn't you eat dinner?"

John nodded.

"Shouldn't you inherit the owner's—I mean office trailer? And wouldn't it make more sense for you to sleep there?"

John snorted around the food in his mouth as he slouched on top of the little refrigerator. "Fat chance. You know what would happen if anyone official ever saw me? I'd probably be sold to the military for medical experiments. No, part of the deal was that I took Serano's name and made sure no one official ever noticed me. Now it's best if I disappear completely."

"What about your injuries? What about that cough?"

"You hear any coughing lately?"

It was true, John sounded a lot better now that he was sitting up and eating. Rodney tried again anyway. "Look, I know a guy in Colorado Springs, Dr. Carson Beckett, MD PhD. Let him check you over. He won't tell anyone. Then I guess you can come back to California with me if you want."

John lowered his head and looked at Rodney from beneath bunched up eyebrows. Then he sprang from his perch on the mini-fridge and was out the door with only a, "So long, Rodney."

#

Cold. Sore. Joints stiff.

Skin thickened over his injured shoulder but didn't heal all the way. And he was so hungry.

#

Carson Beckett startled awake out of a sound sleep. It wasn't the first time he'd woken to a knock in the middle of the night, but this time the knocking was at his back door.

He belted his flannel robe, because August nights managed a slight chill in Colorado Springs. Then he reached for the torch—flashlight—beneath his sink. There wasn't a light for his back porch, so he shined the flashlight out the small window in the kitchen door that opened onto the back garden. With so little light, he almost missed the figure huddled against the doorframe.

Opening the door caused the man to fall inward. Carson moved to help but drew back as his hand brushed something cold and scabrous. The man on his floor looked half alien. He was wearing long pants and a hoodie but they were shredded or ripped half open in several places. Blue skin, rough and scaly in places, showed along the entire left side of the body. But the face was mostly human, unshaved and dirty with blue creeping up the neck and along one cheek, but mostly human.

Lifting an inhuman hand to block the overhead light from slowly blinking eyes the figure rasped out, "Rodney McKay said you wouldn't tell anyone." Then the man curled into a ball and passed out, partially blocking the open back door.

Rodney McKay wasn't a name that Carson expected to hear from an alien collapsing on his floor in the middle of the night. But Rodney was exactly the inconsiderate sort who'd make promises on Carson's behalf without telling him. To the best of his knowledge, Rodney had no involvement with biological experimentation or the secret space programs run out of Colorado Springs. Not sure he wanted to hear Rodney's explanation, Carson went for a blanket and wondered how he could help the— man? alien?—patient on his kitchen floor.

#

Rodney put his phone on speaker so he could answer while still typing. He neither knew nor cared how late at night it was. "Dr. Rodney McKay, PhD PhD."

"Hi Rodney, this is Carson Beckett."

"You realize phones tell people who is calling now, don't you?"

"And yet, you said your name when you answered."

"That's because I assumed you were calling to congratulate me on my brilliantly successful defense of my engineering thesis, earning me my second PhD."

"That's very nice, Rodney." The MD PhD's tone lacked any enthusiasm or appreciation. "But I'm calling to ask you about a partially blue man who recently stumbled into my home and passed out after saying you sent him."

"What? John's there?" Rodney started saving files and closing programs on his computer.

"He only gave me your name, not his, before passing out. Anything you'd care to tell me?"

"Hey, I'm done here. I'll call when I know what time you can pick me up from the airport."

Rodney hung up and shut down his laptop. He'd been living out of a suitcase for the couple weeks he'd been back at Caltech anyway. Visiting Colorado Springs before deciding his next career move sounded like a vacation, and Carson always had plenty of food to share, even when they'd both been eternally busy grad student zombies with no apparent time for grocery shopping.

#

The pounding at Carson's front door made it clear Rodney had not enjoyed his taxi ride from the airport, even if Carson had pre-paid.

Carson opened the door to a determined, "You'd better have coffee." Rodney dropped his bag a step inside the door and made a beeline for the coffee and muffins that Carson had set out on the dinette table bordering the living room.

"Good to see you again, too. Rodney, may I introduce my friend, Daniel Jackson. Daniel, this is Rodney McKay."

"That's Dr. McKay, two PhDs, none of that medical nonsense."

"Play nice, Rodney. Daniel has three."

Rodney scowled with a face full of muffin. He looked far too much like the proverbial cat who ate the canary. "Hmmph. What in?"

"Archeology, anthropology, and philology," Daniel replied. He sat back deep in a corner of Carson's brown sofa, sipping his second cup of coffee since arriving.

"Well, that explains it. Why is he here Carson?"

The doctor sighed but motioned his latest guest to an armchair as he returned to his regular spot on the sofa. "You see, Daniel and I work together. He's also in a position to make you an offer of employment. Even if you don't accept, that would allow us to discuss certain classified information."

"Are you trying to bribe me with a job or with information? Either way, John's not for sale. You checked that there's not citrus in these muffins, right?"

"No citrus. I made them myself," Carson said.

"John?" Daniel asked. To protect his mysterious patient's privacy as much as possible, Carson hadn't even told Daniel that the matter he wanted to research involved a person. He'd only said that Dr. McKay had relevant information for some research he wanted to do, but that he'd have to disclose a bit about his work with the Stargate program to find out more.

"John, as you call him, is currently unconscious in my guest room. I am going to need some information and possibly a health care proxy in order to treat him further. Finally, while I intend to respect his medical confidentiality as much as possible, I'd like to know what risks I'm taking, physical or legal."

"Risks?" Rodney's forehead wrinkled in honest confusion at the concept. While the man might not be the best judge of people, he tended to be overly cautious, about danger to himself if not to others. "John's not a risk to anyone, except maybe himself. Was he still coughing?"

"I have a feeling I'm missing something here, and probably you are, too." Daniel sat forward. With a nod to Rodney he pulled a bundle of papers from a case at his feet. "If you want to sign our standard non-disclosure, perhaps we can find out why Carson invited us both to his home this morning."

Rodney took the papers and started muttering about small-minded bureaucrats and the myth of the paperless office as he read the first page. By the second page he was silent, a very unusual state for Rodney McKay. As he finished the nine-page document he gave Carson a worried look. "You'd better not be setting me up for some kind of joke."

Carson felt a pang at all the hurt behind those words before Rodney continued.

"You know I can hack you both into debt or disgrace if you do anything to hurt John or me."

Daniel raised a single eyebrow.

Carson rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, "I'll do my best, and I wouldn't have called Daniel if I'd seen any better option."

Rodney signed the papers.

As Daniel collected them, Carson asked, "Do you know who might have John's power of attorney or health care proxy? If he has family or a spouse?"

"I'm pretty certain there's no one."

"Did he ask you to help him with a medical problem or take action on his behalf?"

"Not exactly. But he was asleep in my bed and asked for my food before insisting he didn't need help and dashing off into the night. I gave him your name. Does that count?" Rodney suddenly sounded as young as he was, twenty-two if Carson remembered correctly.

"Rodney," Carson couldn't help looking back and forth between his two friends as he spoke, "Do you know if John was born on Earth?"

Rodney jumped up from his chair and started waving his arms to accentuate a long stream of words. "What kind of a doctor are you? You see someone with blue skin and assume he's an alien? I mean, exobiology is all well and good in theory, but this is not Star Trek. If we find alien life it will not have DNA compatible with ours and want to sleep with Captain Kirk. Look, I spent my summers working for a sleazy carnie name Serano who claimed John was his kid and marketed him as the Bug Boy. John says the guy wasn't his dad, and for his sake, I hope that's true. Serano was an idiot whose only smart move was recruiting me when I was too young to know better and desperately needed the money. But whatever they told the customers at Serano's Modern Wonders, none of it was magic or alien or impossible to explain. As you may have heard, 'Sufficiently advanced science is indistinguishable from magic.' For most Americans, that makes a moving hologram magical. You don't need to believe in aliens to treat John for smoke inhalation or whatever."

Daniel leaned back on the sofa and said, "What you're missing is that both Carson and I have met aliens. I've traveled to other planets using technology left behind by aliens who may have seeded similar lifeforms throughout more than one galaxy. Now I know why Carson needed you to sign a non-disclosure agreement. What I'm wondering is why Carson thinks your friend might be an alien, and I'm guessing it's more than a bluish tinge to his skin."

"Sit down, Rodney." Carson waved at the armchair until the scientist grabbed himself another muffin and sat. "Daniel and I are only trying to help. Of course, this would be much simpler if you had your friend's power of attorney or health care proxy." Carson paused wondering what he could say or ask without violating his patient's privacy.

"Seems like you've already shared a lot of information without me."

Carson jumped in his seat. Despite his best medical predictions, the man with the scaly blue skin, John, was standing under his own power in the doorway between Carson's living room and hallway. He was wearing the clean sleep pants Carson had left him in last night but he'd also pulled on his filthy, torn up hoodie, presumably to hide as much of his skin as possible.

#

John was impressed by the calm way Daniel Jackson pulled out a cell phone as if he was drawing a gun. Rodney and the doctor both started and stared.

Needing to appear confident and adult in a dangerous situation, John drew on what little he remembered of his actual father. He squared his shoulders and stepped forward to loom above the seated scientist. "Dr. Jackson, I'd like to believe that you're only thinking of calling for help if I prove dangerous, but to be fair, I asked the doctor not to tell anyone. Could you give me your phone?"

He used the man's title both to show respect and to demonstrate that he'd heard everything they'd said before. Amazingly enough, the man handed the phone over. John checked that it wasn't obviously calling or doing anything. He'd never actually handled a cell phone, but he'd heard some of the new Stark phones that came out earlier in 2004 could take pictures and even video. He tossed the phone across the hall into the room where he'd woken up.

"Okay, so I'm awake. Now you can tell me whatever you wanted to tell Rodney if he was my proxy or family or whatever."

Carson Beckett started to push up from the couch. "Son, you really shouldn't be out of bed yet. I'd like to look you over and check the spot where you pulled out your IV."

John shook his head and moved to block Carson from standing. "Thanks, but I'm fine now, and you're not old enough to call me son. Other than the obvious, why did you think I might be an alien?"

Carson looked at Daniel who seemed to be studying John's less human hand. Even John was ashamed at how lumpy and rough his blue skin looked after a couple weeks of sleeping rough. But Dr. Jackson only asked, "Could I see your palms?"

John didn't want to show anyone anything, but his palms weren't particularly unusual. One was blue, but it wasn't scaly or deformed. He seemed to have the same lines on his skin and the same bones and muscles underneath as everyone else. Besides, the man had handed over his phone without a fuss. Very deliberately, John held his palms out where Daniel and the others could see them but not easily touch.

"Good," Daniel said. "In other circumstances, I'd need you to sign a non-disclosure both for what you already heard and anything more I could tell you. But I'd need a full name to run a background check first, and I'm guessing that might be problematic. Maybe we could all agree that no one will share anything said here without the others' permission."

John nodded, understanding the implied protection from mutual blackmail material based on negotiations he'd overheard at the carnival, where no one ever seemed to think he was listening or comprehending.

"There are some aliens called the Wraith with skin about that color, but they have feeding orifices on their palms. To the best of our knowledge, they haven't made it to this galaxy. However, we did send a brief mission to a city called Atlantis in the Pegasus Galaxy where some of our people encountered a Wraith Queen on an underwater drilling platform. She killed all of them but one, using the orifice in her palm to suck the life out of them. The one survivor was apparently immune to her feeding. He managed to escape the Wraith Queen and the deep-sea explosion that killed her, but something triggered a mutation in him. By the time he returned home, all of his skin looked a lot like the blue parts of yours." Daniel paused to adjust his glasses. "May I ask how long you and McKay have known each other?"

"Why?" John asked, before Rodney could answer.

"I'm trying to figure out any way you might be related to the man I told you about. The point is, to learn anything that might help you, you're going to have to share some information, too."

"Seven years," John said.

Daniel turned to face McKay, “How old would you say John looked then?”

"How does that—Oh, you want to know if we aged at the same rate," Rodney sputtered. John could practically see the wheels turning in the scientist's mind. "Well, I was fifteen in 1997. He looked about my age to me, but I never really thought about it."

"I was thirteen then. I'm twenty now." John slouched against the doorframe. "How long have people been traveling to different galaxies?"

"Not much longer than that. You would have been nine at the time of the Atlantis Expedition. I assume you don't remember having any contact with someone more blue than you?"

John did not appreciate the joke, if it was meant to be one. He realized it might be significant that he didn't look different from other people until the house fire when he was ten. His father had called him a freak, as if turning blue and maybe the fire too had been all John's fault. But if someone more blue than him had come back from space the year before—he needed time to think about that before telling anyone else. All he said was, "Nope."

The way Daniel watched him made John think he'd paused too long, but all the man said was, "You came here for help. What were you hoping for?"

"Whatever the doctor did seems to have worked. I'm fine now."

"Says the guy who ran into a fire—multiple times!—and avoided all medical care afterward."

"You want me to apologize for pulling you out?" John raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose at Rodney as he said it, a look he'd learned from online videos and practiced in the mirror.

"Well, no, I mean, the loss of a mind like mine would be a great disservice to—"

John cut him off. "You want me to apologize for rescuing anyone else?"

It was easy to get Rodney all red in the face and huffy. "Did I ask you to apologize? No, I implied you saying you're fine doesn't always agree with what so called medical science might consider fine. And since you wouldn't let me take you to Carson when you were coughing and burned at least all over your arm, I'm guessing something even worse must have happened to get you to come here. And what happened to that sweatshirt anyway?"

Glancing down at his green hoodie, John had to admit it looked pretty bad. There was a bullet hole through the shoulder where some hunter had shot him, possibly by accident, while he was cold and half asleep yesterday morning. The others might not have realized what it was because the punks that caught him later in the day had taken turns slashing and stabbing him to see what color he bled and if he could heal from it all. He'd made his way into Colorado Springs and looked up Dr. Carson Beckett as much because he'd failed at hiding as because he wasn't healing properly anymore. In hindsight, finding a safe place to sleep and eat probably would have done the trick. John thought he should count himself as lucky that he'd lived to twenty before finding out his rapid healing required extra calories. He probably should have realized the night he cleaned out Rodney's mini-fridge. All he said aloud was, "Some people didn't like the way I looked. Are those muffins up for grabs?"

#

Carson motioned to the muffins and coffee, "Please, help yourself." He was amused when John filled a coffee cup with milk rather than coffee. As the younger man ate, Carson said, "There's another factor we should discuss."

John shrugged, looking much more human now that he was eating and interacting than he had when he fell through Carson's door.

"While I can't easily identify what makes you blue, you do have what we call the ATA gene."

John almost dropped his milk. "You did blood tests while I was unconscious?"

"Calm down, lad," Carson said, falling back on old habit. "The only way I could check you properly for life threatening conditions without taking you to a hospital was to use a handheld Ancient scanner. The ATA gene is the Ancient Technology Activation gene, so of course it registered on my scan, as did your dehydration and some malnutrition. Without proper medical consent, I only gave the tests and care I deemed medically necessary for an unconscious patient."

Rodney waved an arm as if to pull the conversation back to what interested him. "I'm guessing Ancient technology in this case doesn't mean water wheels or aqueducts dug up by people like him?" He waved dismissively at Daniel.

"People like me, by which I'm guessing you mean archeologist and anthropologists," Daniel spoke in clipped tones, "discovered the pyramids in Egypt were overseen by aliens called Goa'uld who came to Earth and co-opted the Egyptian belief system to make themselves gods. The aliens we call Ancients first colonized Earth and the Milky Way Galaxy over fifty million years ago. They built a system for nearly instantaneous travel using what some call Stargates, Astria Porta, or Rings of the Ancestors. They eventually built the city-ship Atlantis to escape a plague in the Milky Way Galaxy and flew it to Pegasus. Then ten thousand years ago, they returned to Earth using a Stargate powerful enough to allow travel between galaxies. At that point they seem to have spread the ATA gene among some humans by interbreeding."

John sighed and set his cup down. "So you don't just think I'm alien, you think I'm two different kinds of alien?"

Carson instinctively stood and moved closer hoping to sooth the younger man, but stopped when he saw his approach was having the opposite effect. John positioned himself on the far side of the dining table with the muffins. "I'm ATA positive myself, so by that definition I'm part alien as well. It would take time and further testing to determine if your coloration indicates some relation to the Wraith, a connection to the mutant from the Atlantis expedition who was immune to the Wraith, or an independent mutation that may have nothing to do with aliens whatsoever."

When John nodded, Carson was sure he had the man's full attention. "The point I wanted to make is that you may have a strong enough presentation of the ATA gene to earn yourself a spot on a new expedition to Atlantis. Daniel and a diplomat named Elizabeth Weir have been arguing for a return trip, but they need a strong gene carrier who could control and possibly fly Atlantis and we're hoping Rodney might be able to help with power supply issues for using a Stargate to reach another Galaxy."

#

All John could think was that he might get to fly a city-ship called Atlantis. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he'd always wanted to fly. He'd played every flight simulator game he could find, and completed the online test for a recreational or private pilot's license as soon as he turned seventeen. Of course, he couldn't log practice hours at the time.

"Not to rain on anyone's parade," Daniel's gaze was shifting between Carson and John, "but how exactly are we going to bring him into the program? I'm pretty sure whatever gadget told you he was ATA positive was never supposed to have left the base, and if you bring him in as a suspected mutant…"

Carson frowned. "Then the NID or one of the Weapon Plus programs might try to claim him."

John didn't know what either of those groups were, but he knew why he'd promised to stay hidden and off the government radar. A traveling show like Serano's, full of carnie tricks and fakery, had been the best place his father could find to hide a real freak like John.

Rodney cut across the conversation and John's thoughts, "So you are legitimately trying to hire me? To solve some power issue for an expedition to the Pegasus Galaxy?"

"It's an option Rodney, but this isn't all about you right now."

"But don't you see"—Rodney tapped his foot as if waiting for the others to catch up to something brilliant he'd told them—"John can be my minion. If he wears gloves and a hoodie, all he'll need is a mask or maybe some kind of make-up, and no one will see any blue."

Everyone stared at Rodney, including John.

John was waiting for someone else to laugh or explain to Rodney all the ways such a plan could fail. Instead Carson said, "I could sign off on his physical."

Daniel said, "I could handle the new hire paperwork. If we station them in Antarctica right from the start, no one will question a scarf and gloves. We're going to need some kind of records for the background check, at least a school diploma or previous employment record."

"I have a Bachelor's in math as John Serano through a distance learning program at the University of Illinois."

"You do?" Rodney threw his arms out wildly. "Why didn't you tell me? Why the University of Illinois?"

"I didn't think you'd care with all your PhDs." John shrugged, because he'd certainly suspected. "The University of Illinois had the best math program I could complete without ever showing up in person." John didn't mention that part of his father's agreement with Serano, beyond John's parentage remaining completely secret, was that John be allowed to pursue the best education he could manage while hidden in a circus trailer. He'd leveraged that to include early college admission, his pilot training, and quite a bit of online news and entertainment access as well.

"Until this summer, I didn't even know you could talk."

John only smiled as he remembered the night Rodney climbed up the Ferris wheel...

#

_If he stayed in his Bug Boy enclosure or packed up with it in his trailer when they traveled, it was for John to survive unnoticed. But he loved the open sky and climbing to the highest point around, which in his world meant the top of the Ferris wheel. He went there at night whenever the rest of the carnies finally chose to sleep. This night, the only light left on had been in the shop trailer. Rodney McKay pretty much never noticed people, so John let himself out of his cage._

_Naturally, Bug Boy had no problem swinging from strut to strut with his guitar slung across his back. The Ferris wheel made a much better climbing gym than the cage they displayed him in, although John did rather like his giant hamster wheel. It was structured like a free rolling German wheel in a circus, and Rodney had mounted it to maintain the balance and smooth spin that allowed John to walk, run, flip through the bars, or flip through his own arms. John had lounged in his hammock or hung upside down from his ceiling listening as their summertime tech guru swore and complained his way through the wheel installation. He never asked John to help or to even hold something up. Almost no one in the circus ever spoke to John, probably assuming he was dumb as a bug._

_The Ferris wheel didn't spin while John was on it, but when he didn't have his guitar there were places he could launch himself and spin around some bars. That part wasn't as enjoyable as his well-oiled, perfectly balanced wheel. But sprawling in a swing chair or on a strut at the top and letting the wind steal the sound from his guitar was as close to free as John ever got. The guitar he'd justified through a music class for his correspondence high school five years back. He was playing Johnny Cash's "Traveling Man" when he heard a slap on the bottom of the Ferris wheel._

_He was startled but didn't stop playing. It took only a moment to identify the man with the determined climbing style and no finesse as none other than their semi-resident genius, Rodney McKay. By the time Rodney made it to the top, John was playing "Ghost Riders in the Sky."_

_When Rodney finally settled across from him with his mouth open either in shock or to catch his breath, John only said, "What, you didn't think I could sing?"_

#

No one had expected much from the Bug Boy, and he'd never felt the need for friends. What had happened with Rodney over the last couple months had taken John by surprise. He still didn't trust it. Now Rodney's friend and a friend of his friend were trying to tell John he might be two different types of alien, and they wanted to hire him.

Carson asked, "How could you know someone for seven years and not realize he could talk?"

The doctor looked at John with something far too close to pity. John slouched against the wall in a pose that looked cool when Serano used it and said, "Maybe I didn't have anything worth saying to him before."

"That doesn't seem to stop most people," Rodney complained.

John couldn't help but smile.

#

The first night in Antarctica was rough. Rodney was sore all over from the flights to the tip of Chile, then to McMurdo, then to the secret Ancient base. He'd only known about Ancients for a week, and now he was in Antarctica with only his arc reactor prototype and a suitcase stuffed with all the warm clothing he could have delivered fast enough.

When he finally saw the bed he'd been looking forward to, he wanted to weep. It was basically a cot with a mattress. He complained to John—his roommate! Everyone had to share a room!—who was already buried completely under the covers on his own bed. "I specifically told them I have a bad back. This mattress is so flimsy that I could diagram the pattern of wires without taking it apart. They've clearly never heard of memory foam, pocket coil springs, or an innerspring layer. Do they have any idea of the cost in efficiency due to interrupted sleep hours or that the majority of people experience lost sleep due to back pain at least for short periods in their lives?"

Rodney changed into the thermal pajamas he'd bought specifically for Antarctica. Before crawling under the covers, he pulled on a pair of rechargeable battery powered hunting socks. "The pillow is lumpy and smells like mildew, too. How do people survive like this?"

As he flicked off the light, Rodney realized John hadn't spoken the whole time. It was possible he'd already fallen asleep. Rodney tried to lie quietly, but a spring was poking him in the shoulder. When he rolled to his side the mattress sagged so badly he couldn't keep his back aligned. Then he noticed the rattling sound, and within thirty seconds it was driving him crazy.

"What is that noise? John, are your teeth chattering. I know it's cold, and these blankets are old school wool, and you'd think they could come up with something more technologically advanced given all the exotic and Ancient materials we're working with here. Seriously, John, are your teeth chattering?"

#

John didn't know what to do. He was used to being a little bit cold at night, but the entire Antarctic base was kept colder than any of the carnival's regular performance venues. He was sure it was below sixty degrees. That probably counted as pretty good for a place with sub-zero temperatures above ground and snow and ice all around. But John had been cold since they arrived five hours ago, and lying in bed, he felt chilled through to his bones. He could not make his teeth stop chattering, even when he tried to clamp his jaw shut. "Sorry, I can't seem to stop them."

"Wow, you sound like you're freezing to death over there." Rodney answered matter-of-factly. "You aren't going to actually freeze or get hypothermia or anything are you? That would be really embarrassing—for both of us! Well, I guess you can't really be embarrassed if you're dead. Oh, enough already, come over here. Bring your blankets and we'll share body heat."

John froze as if he really had turned to ice. He couldn't imagine Rodney was serious, but the idea of being warm enough to sleep was pretty tempting.

"Can you not hear me over your chattering teeth? Or is this some stupid American macho male thing you're hung up on?"

John lifted his blankets in one flat mass and carried them to spread on top of Rodney's. His feet felt numb but even through his socks he could feel how cold the floor was.

Rodney lifted the top outside corner of the blankets. "Get in before you lose whatever warmth you have."

Carefully, trying not to let too much cold air in with him, John slid beneath both sets of covers. The heat from Rodney's body on his right drew him like a magnet. He let his arm and shoulder press against Rodney’s. Even through his sweatshirt and whatever Rodney was wearing, the heat was like a furnace. John felt as if he was melting from that arm outward, although there was a bit of a draft where his left shoulder rested at the edge of the twin mattress.

Then Rodney started squirming. "This will never do. I have a bad back. You're ice cold. We need to optimize for our two bodies and this mattress. Since I'm the engineer and physicist, you move where I put you. First, scoot toward me a little bit."

Rodney pulled away, turning on his side to face John and tug at his arm. John slid toward the middle of the bed, still on his back. Several shoves, pokes and prods later, John found himself half blanketed by a very warm scientist. The man's head was on his chest, arm across his ribs, one leg partly tucked on top of John's. He'd avoided the groin area, but he'd tucked under John's right arm, so that John was effectively holding him close. It was surprisingly comfortable and amazingly warm. John tingled all over and wasn't sure how much of that was thawing out numb parts and how much was his body reacting to more touch than he'd ever experienced at one time.

Then Rodney's right foot settled in between John's. It was like a warm spoon meeting ice cream. John's feet melted and molded themselves around Rodney's foot. "Are your socks heated?"

"The best hunter's socks available. I can recharge them, too."

"Can you wear them inside shoes?"

"Sure, but you probably wouldn't need to. Were your feet cold while we were moving around?"

John nodded, knowing Rodney would be able to feel it from where he rested below John's chin.

Rodney harrumphed. "I have an extra pair I'll dig out for you tomorrow."

"You don't have to do that." John would bet Rodney could sell those socks down here for ten times what he'd paid.

"Can't have a lab assistant with numb feet. You might trip and damage something important. Now go to sleep."

John felt the scientist relax into sleep and start making breathy little snoring sounds against his chest. Meanwhile, John's body tingled and twitched, more awake that he'd felt for hours. His teeth had stopped chattering, and he swallowed back a smile.

Touch had never felt so good before. He tried not to remember his mother who'd died or the tattoo artist who'd treated him like a carnival ride. This might be the best he'd ever feel and he didn't want to miss it by sleeping. Where the heat of fire seemed to stretch his skin, this human heat made his skin feel loose, like a layer of fuzz around his body.

The way Rodney slept across his chest, John knew he must be covering some of the blue skin on John's lower ribs. But John couldn't feel the difference. Certain the other man was asleep, John carefully raised his ugly blue hand to let it rest on top of Rodney. He could feel Rodney's breathing under both palms. His heartbeat was so much slower than John's at the moment.

John's heart was beating fast. Every part of him was warm except his feet. They were going through the pins and needles stage that had to happen as part of warming up. Still they molded themselves around Rodney's heated sock foot. John's cock twitched a little as his feet rubbed along Rodney's. It wasn't clear to John if he was sexually attracted to anyone, but whatever he was feeling wrapped up together with Rodney, he wanted as much as he could get.

#

"If Stark already solved it, why can't we work from his designs?" Rodney yelled.

"He hasn't officially admitted any such thing." Elizabeth Weir sighed as if Rodney was a dim child who required extra patience. Rodney thought a hot shot diplomat should be able to tell how much that annoyed him.

"So, Stargate Command has spies who say Tony Stark made a miniature arc reactor, which you assume is better than mine, which is generally a poor assumption anyway considering you're dealing with the smartest man in the world—"

"Rodney." Weir crossed her arms in front of her chest. Rodney wondered how she could keep warm in such a form fitting coat while he and most of the scientists were smothered in fleece or down or Primaloft jackets. "First, Stargate Command does not have spies. Someone in military intelligence might have a reputable source, but all we have are rumors. Second, Mr. Stark is not currently willing to share any weapons technology. Without telling him about Stargates, there is no way he is going to work with us on this. What I'm saying is that you are not going to work with palladium in combination with radioactive materials down here. Anyway, we have it on good authority that neither Earth-based technology nor Naqaudah generators can provide power equivalent to a ZPM."

"Hah!" Rodney waved his arm and clapped them together. "If by good authority you mean Samantha Carter, I beg to differ. John, power up the chair."

#

John hadn't used the chair in front of an audience before. So far no one in Antarctica other than Rodney, Carson, and Daniel knew what a freak John was. After almost a month in Antarctica, John had started to feel like he might be able to pass as an ordinary human after all. Now Rodney was drawing him into the middle of a shouting match that most of the science staff and some testy looking military had gathered around to watch.

"Hey, buddy, maybe this isn't the best time—" John said from where he'd been working on a computer at the edge of the room.

"This is exactly the time. It's not like I can explain the science to these morons, so we need a little show and tell."

Those words sent chills up John's spine, but he was here as Rodney's lab assistant. Trying his best to act like an ordinary human, he stepped onto the Ancient platform that he knew from previous attempts would glow with blue light in response to his strong ATA gene. Reluctantly this time, he climbed into the throne-like control chair with its metal filigree and spongy sensor pads. They'd previously worked out a way for him to slide his hands out under his gloves, hiding almost all the blue skin on his left hand. John managed without anyone seeming to look too closely and the chair and platform lit up around him.

"Show us a diagram of the chair you're sitting in," Rodney commanded. With a thought the image appeared in the air above them. "Now zoom in on the current power source."

The projected image changed as fast as John thought about it. A couple of scientists gasped, and John suddenly realized he wasn't showing them a ZPM. The miniature arc reactor Rodney had mostly kept hidden since John pulled him out of the fire was now sandwiched between two lead lined spheres that John knew held Naquadah, a super-dense mineral mined on alien planets and used in the Stargates and powerful explosives. John wasn't at all sure he liked sitting above something like that.

Rodney, standing next to a carefully neutral looking Weir, pulled a ZPM out of the box beside him. "Today, I've replaced you regular ZedPM with the McKay Advanced Power device, which may also be shortened to MAP, a much better acronym that ZedPM."

A fluffy haired scientist named Radek Zelenka asked, "Excuse me, but you are using palladium and Naquadah—together—to power the Ancient control chair that is completely enclosed with us beneath hundreds of feet of ice?" As he spoke he moved to study the control panels closest to McKay.

"It is perfectly safe for short periods of time when there is no Naquadriah present," McKay said.

"Not so reassuring," the man said in an accent John vaguely identified as Czech. "And these reading are very close to overload."

At that, everyone in the room rushed to see what Zelenka was looking at. That was everyone except a certain male scientist with glasses and hair pulled back into a greasy ponytail. In the few weeks John had been in Antarctica, he'd learned to avoid this man. Dr. Kavanagh was arrogant and rude, which admittedly, could describe Rodney as well. But Kavanagh also made frequent mathematical errors and would fly off the handle if someone like John, a lowly assistant, happened to point them out.

Now Kavanagh rushed at John while everyone else was busy with Zelenka across the room. He yanked John's hands off the control interfaces in the arms of the chair. With a hum the chair powered down and went dark.

At the same time Kavanagh screamed, "Look what it's done to him!"

The grabby scientist only managed to hold John's left hand in the air for half a minute before John broke the grip and covered up with warm gloves, but the damage was done. Everyone in the room was staring at John.

It was a relief when Rodney interrupted the silence shouting, "You imbecile, now we'll have to set up another trial run."

Weir said, "Rodney, your assistant's hand turned blue."

To which Rodney only said, "It was always blue. But you saw, my MAP can temporarily replace a ZedPM."

At that point, Colonel Sumner, a hard ass Marine who was to lead the military contingent if they returned to Atlantis, stormed in. "What is going on here?"

"Dr. McKay almost blew us all up and his assistant is turning blue!" Kavanagh spoke the loudest, although others tried to answer as well.

Sumner turned to one of the military men who'd been present the whole time and said, "Sergeant Markham, report."

"Dr. McKay demonstrated a power source in place of the ZPM in the control chair, sir."

"Did anything blow up or turn blue?"

"The man in front of the chair's hand is blue. Nothing blew up so far, sir."

Sumner looked at John, glaring in particular at John's gloved hands. "Show me."

At that point Carson moved in beside John and said, "The skin condition is pre-existing. If you want, I can conduct a private examination to determine if there have been any changes."

"I'm asking the man to show me his hand, not pull down his pants in public." Sumner had the sort of face that always looked angry to John. His eyebrows furrowed in by his nose, and his mouth was fixed in a permanent frown. Now his entire forehead was wrinkled with displeasure, and he even smelled like he was sweating for a fight.

Weir cleared her throat. "Perhaps we could adjourn to a meeting room: Colonel Sumner, Dr. Beckett, Dr. McKay, Dr. Zelenka, and Mr. Serano. Follow me."

John didn't generally like the way Weir ordered people around and seemed to be talking down to them. In the current situation however, it felt a bit like a rescue.

They ended up in a room packed with Earth electronics on one side and shelves full of books and gear on the other. There was a large table in the center surrounded by folding chairs.

"First," Weir said before anyone else could speak, in fact, before all of them were even seated, "I want McKay and Zelenka to give their perspectives on the new power source and whether it is safe to even test in our current location."

McKay began, "We're buried under hundreds of feet of ice with all sorts of Ancient technology we barely understand. My MAP device wouldn't even make the top ten list for ways we're most likely to die at any moment. Also, as you saw, Samantha Carter is wrong, wrong, wrong." Rodney smiled and pounded his fists on the table. "We can substitute Earth-technology boosted by Naquadah to replace a ZedPM in the control chair. While Dr. Kavanagh recklessly interrupted this test run, I'm confident MAP can be used to open the Stargate to Atlantis. Which means we could carry a spare power source with us and return at any time."

"Dr. Zelenka?" Weir asked.

"Readings were close to overload, but there was no sign of radioactive isotopes forming. We would need to test if single device could power intergalactic wormhole for 38 minutes. Power level was dropping rapidly. Is not a long term replacement for a ZPM." Zelenka pushed his glasses up his nose. "But as proof of concept, it perhaps did defy common wisdom of science staff at Stargate Command."

"Yes!" Rodney pumped his fist into the air. "Already, I have proven who's the better man."

Elizabeth scowled at him. "You should have asked in advance before experimenting with heavy metals or potentially radioactive materials on this base. Springing something like that on me in front of the entire base was unprofessional. If you want to be considered for the Head of Science position on an Atlantis expedition, you need to be a team player and respect safety protocols."

"Yes, yes." Rodney waved a hand carelessly in front of himself. He was still smiling at his own scientific success. John wanted to be happy for him, but he was too busy sliding down his chair.

"Mr. Serano." The way Colonel Sumner said his name made John sit up straight. "I had not been informed that you had a skin condition that might affect your role on this mission."

John didn't know what to say and looked to Carson who picked up the ball. "As a civilian, John's health records are private. If the Atlantis Expedition is approved, relevant information will be released to the mission command staff."

"If someone is partially blue and half the base has seen it, I don't think that qualifies for medical privacy anymore, Doctor." The Colonel's jaw clamped shut at the end.

Carson shrugged and looked to John. "It's your choice, but if McKay truly has solved the power issue, we may have clearance for the expedition within a week or two."

John tried not to show any fear as he pulled off his left glove. At least his skin had smoothed out some, so it looked only a little thickened and rough, aside from being blue.

The Colonel stared and then asked in a surprisingly calm voice, "How high up does it go?"

"It affects most of that side of my body and a small patch on the right."

Weir let out a gasp and the Colonel's voice was less friendly as he said, "Remove your hood and scarf."

John knew he could probably protest and delay the inevitable, but he didn't want to live with more uncertainty at this point. He glanced to Rodney and saw the man was barely paying attention. He and Zelenka were absorbed in what were clearly test results shown on a tablet that sat between them on the table. As calmly as possible, John pulled back his hood and unwound his scarf.

Sumner's lips drew back to reveal teeth clenched in what could be a snarl, but he made no sound at first. Finally he said, "How do you expect people to work with something like that when he's not hidden under cold weather clothes?"

"Colonel Sumner," Elizabeth said sharply, "I will not stand for you or anyone else with the Atlantis Expedition speaking of another human being in that way."

She was studying John the way customers at Serano's Modern Wonders once had, even though he was showing much less skin and doing nothing more than sitting at a table. Her attitude made John feel small, which was worse than the anger he'd managed at Colonel Sumner's remark. Still, if he wanted to get to Atlantis, he'd have to find ways to deal with both of them. He tried to relax into the sort of sprawl that made Serano look at ease even when suppliers confronted him with overdue bills.

Sumner stood in outrage. "Dr. Weir, you've seen pictures of the Wraith. How do you think people in the Pegasus Galaxy will react to something like that?"'

"For all we know, there could be planets full of blue people in Pegasus." Elizabeth stood as well. "We do not need narrow-minded individuals leading the military for a peaceful first contact mission."

"You're going to need us to protect you from the Wraith and other threats you may be too blind to acknowledge." Sumner turned his gaze to Carson as if dismissing Weir. "Dr. Beckett, have you tested this man to see if he's part Wraith?"

Carson remained in his seat next to John. "No samples of Wraith DNA were brought back from the first mission to Pegasus. Mr. Serano underwent the standard medical tests given to all personnel considered for the Atlantis Expedition and was determined to have a very strong expression of the ATA gene."

"I don't care about that. We'll get approval to give everyone the artificial ATA shots before we go. I need to know if this man is a threat or possibly an enemy agent." Sumner was focused on John now, practically growling.

"Preliminary results show the artificial ATA treatment does not work for everyone and is unlikely to provide as strong of a genetic expression as found in most natural carriers. Nothing in Mr. Serano's medical records indicates that he is a threat and none of his anatomy is consistent with what we know of the Wraith."

"We'll see about that. I'm going to order a new security check, and until then I want this man confined to quarters."

As Sumner pointed down at John, McKay suddenly leapt up from the table. "You can't do that. He works for me, and I report to her." Rodney pointed to Weir.

"Everyone calm down," Weir said. "Mr. Serano has been here for weeks without incident. If you want him to stay on base while you conduct your security check, that shouldn't present a hardship. Confining someone to quarters here would be cruel and pointless. As demonstrated, Mr. Serano and Dr. McKay are doing work that is critical to the expedition, and I will not tolerate any interference with that."

"Fine," the Colonel said, glaring down at John. "Serano, you're confined to base. Don't try anything funny, because I will be keeping a very close eye on you."

Sumner stomped out of the room. Weir said, "I guess this meeting is adjourned."

#

Carson was working late at the microscope in his tiny medical office when Rodney appeared at his door.

"I need an electric blanket, two really," Rodney said without preamble.

"Come in, Rodney." Carson ushered him in and shut the door. "Would you like some tea?"

"Coffee?"

"Just tea. It's warm and will help you sleep."

"I want the electric blanket to help me sleep."

"Two of them?"

"John's even colder than I am. You've seen him, not an ounce of natural insulation."

"Has he been hurt?"

"What? No? Why do you ask?"

Carson had his suspicions about John's metabolism. He'd demonstrated surprisingly quick healing along with an enormous appetite when he first appeared. But Carson didn't think it was right to speculate in front of Rodney. "Well, you're here and he's not. With his secret being exposed today and the military leader implying some level of threat, I thought you might be coming in as his friend when he was unwilling to come himself."

Rodney snorted. "I'm not sure he considers me his friend right now. He won't speak to me let alone sleep with me."

Carson raised an eyebrow, wondering if Rodney was really saying what it sounded like he was saying.

Then Rodney sputtered, "No, not like that. It's freezing here. His teeth were chattering. We've been sharing a bed and blankets, but we wear so much sleep clothing, nothing's ever going to happen while we're here."

"But you're interested in each other?"

Rodney shrugged. "Of course I'm interested. He's gorgeous. But honestly, he's never said anything about sex. I'm not sure anyone ever talked to him about it, and he didn't interact with the other carnies at all."

Carson set out a cup of herbal bedtime tea for Rodney, hoping it might help him calm down. "Do you think I should have a talk with him?"

Rodney flailed out an arm, almost spilling the tea. "Are you offering to have 'The Talk' with him? Even I can see that wouldn't go well."

"So why do you think he's changed his mind about sharing a bed with you tonight?"

"He's been avoiding me all afternoon. My chair demonstration accidentally outed him as blue, and I guess he's pissed." Rodney wrapped his hands around the tea cup, absorbing the warmth if nothing else.

"You weren't very supportive of him during the meeting, either."

"What? I objected when Colonel Paranoia tried to confine him to quarters."

"Everything you said was about his usefulness to your science. Before that, you didn't even seem to notice his distress."

"I noticed." Rodney crossed his arms still holding his tea. "But unless it's about science and I know I'm right, which I always am, me getting upset about things tends to backfire more often than not."

"Maybe you should tell him that."

"Tell him what?"

The genius' face was as blank as Carson had ever seen it, and Carson wondered how he'd ended up having this talk with the young man. "That you cared but worried you might make things worse for him."

"Is that what I said?" Rodney looked down in confusion at the tea cup now resting by his elbow.

"I think so."

"What about the electric blankets?"

"We don't have any that aren't in use."

"Oh."

Carson smiled tiredly at Rodney who was now staring at the empty tea cup he had drained in one long sip. "Go talk to John, and then try to get some sleep."

Rodney set down the cup and turned to look at Carson, tilting his head in a way that could only be called endearing. "Thanks, Carson."

The doctor watched the physicist leave and hoped he'd given good advice.

#

When Rodney returned to their room without electric blankets, John was huddled on his own bed. In addition to the wholly inadequate wool blankets they'd each been issued, his new down jacket was piled on top.

Deciding that Carson's advice couldn't fail worse than Rodney already had, the scientist went to sit beside the lump of covers. The lump contracted away from him. "In the meeting I was worried I'd make things worse if I said anything," Rodney blurted. When John didn't react, Rodney followed up with, "John, I can't sleep if I'm worried you're going to freeze to death."

"Won't freeze," John's muffled voice revealed his teeth were chattering again, but not as badly as the first night. "Going to buy an extreme weather sleeping bag with my second paycheck."

In case Rodney hadn't failed as a friend already, this was the first he'd thought about John's financial situation. In addition to losing everything in a fire, Rodney wasn't sure if John had ever been paid before coming to Antarctica. Last week John had received his first packages, a cheap guitar and the expensive down coat now supplementing his blankets. A top of the line extreme weather sleeping bag could cost a thousand dollars. It was possible John hadn't had enough with his first paycheck, whatever lab assistants were paid in this program.

"Listen, you can sleep over here once you get that sleeping bag. I'll order them for both of us if that's what you want. But until then, we have a system that works. It does work for you right, to keep warm and sleep?" Sometimes when Rodney woke, he was sure John was already awake and stayed still to not disturb him. But the man looked better rested here than he had in Colorado Springs, and his teeth didn't chatter when they shared a bed. "John, have you fallen asleep in there."

"No, if you want to join me you can." It was obvious his teeth were still chattering.

Rodney crossed the tiny room in two steps and carefully gathered his blankets to add to the pile on top of John. He didn't know why they'd always shared his bed until now. The thin mattresses were both military issue and probably equally bad. It made sense that John wouldn't want to give up whatever warmth he'd accumulated in his nest. Still, Rodney felt less comfortable climbing in to what was nominally John's bed.

As soon as he was under the covers that changed. John shifted until they fit perfectly together, with Rodney on his side and John on his back. They'd been refining their best warmth and sleep positions since their first night in Antarctica. Now they'd been sleeping together longer than any of Rodney's previous relationships had lasted. It was a different sort of intimacy, but to Rodney it provided more than warmth. He wondered if he could convince John it wasn't worth wasting money on fancy sleeping bags now that the Atlantis expedition might be approved any day. Clueless though he might be, Rodney didn't think this was a good time to pursue the subject.

Instead, lying comfortably with his head on John's chest, Rodney said, "You know I'm bad with social situations. But if you tell me when I'm messing something up for you, I'll try to do better."

John pulled Rodney a little closer. When John sighed, he was like a deflating pillow under Rodney's cheek. That made Rodney smile.

"Thanks," John said.

Rodney smiled more.

#

The man came up behind John in the hallway and had him in a chokehold against the wall before John could see more than his military uniform. The week since Kavanagh revealed John's secret had been unpleasant, but this was the first time John felt terror.

"You know what's good for you, freak, you won't sign on to come with us to Pegasus."

Mission volunteer forms had come out that morning. John should have expected harassment to escalate. His brain went into overdrive assessing the distance to the labs and the precise position of the Marine, identifying him by voice and build as Sergeant Bastian. He remembered when he'd overheard Ruby being pressured by a drunk carnival attendee and tried to channel her distracting belligerence. "Seems bigots like you are the ones who might not be able to handle a bunch of alien worlds."

At the same time, using reflexes and flexibility he'd been honing for the last decade, John turned his head toward Bastion's body as he shifted his left foot behind the Marine's right leg. Pulling his head out, John kicked the sergeant's leg and shoved him toward the wall. Then he took off for the lab at a pace just short of a run.

#

The crazy-haired guy with glasses, Z-something Rodney thought, sat down beside him as they took a break from refurbishing an Ancient console. Rodney shifted his bag of chips safely out of grabbing distance.

"Your assistant, John, you know many military here are watching him?" He had some funky accent, but Rodney couldn't place it and hadn't bothered to ask.

Rodney rolled his eyes. He'd thought Zelinda or whatever his name was might be smarter than most of the idiots he had to deal with. "Yes, and Kavanagh refuses to speak with him, you have a problem with that?"

"No, my past has not left me prone to trust military rumors. No one with self-respect wishes Kavanagh to speak to them."

Finally, the social mumbo-jumbo became sensible at least. "Then what do you want?"

"My work is all shared with you. You share it with John. I may not believe rumors he is an alien or a spy, but I ask your opinion on whether to trust him with technology that could take out a city." Zelenka paused to wipe his glasses. "Or the base where we live. Or the Ancient chair that protects this planet. I am curious. That is all."

Rodney sighed and crumpled the wrapper from his chips. He hated personal conversations with co-workers, but in this case, he could see there was some justification. "I've known him for seven years. He saved my life and others when there was no benefit for him. I don't know who I'd trust more than John."

"That's good enough."

They both stood and headed back to work at different consoles. John rushed in, almost at a run. His hair was even more mussed than usual, and he was pulling up the hood of his jacket. It was never down in public. As Rodney opened his mouth to ask what had happened, John took off across the room to examine at a stack of monitors not relevant to their work. Against his natural instincts, Rodney shut his mouth and didn't ask any questions.

#

A large woman with short, dark hair and the armband of a nurse or medic stepped around John, blocking his way in the hall. For three days, since the incident with Sergeant Bastian, John had avoided being cornered in the halls.

She said, "The Atlantis expedition is approved, and I need to bring you to the infirmary for medical screening."

John didn't know the woman, couldn't remember seeing her before, but he followed her out of the hall and into the room that Carson and other medical personnel used as an infirmary. She motioned him to a cot covered by a clean white sheet and told him to remove his clothing from the waist up. No one else was currently in the room working or being examined, which made John feel slightly better about showing blue skin.

"First, we need a blood sample." She pulled out a tray with a needle and supplies.

John hesitated, already stripped down to his undershirt. "Dr. Carson took one when he did my intake physical."

"This is required for the expedition."

The acrid smell of the room and the medical woman before him had John ready to bolt. He didn't remember it being so bad when Carson was there and wished the familiar doctor was with him now. While it was possible he needed this new exam if the mission had been approved, he didn't think he could sit calmly and let this stranger take his blood. Thinking of Rodney, he raised what he hoped was a reasonable, if possibly hypochondriac, objection. "Dr. Beckett handles all my medical care. He's the only one who understands my conditions and requirements."

The skin around the woman's eyes tightened as she picked up the needle and a tourniquet band from the tray. "No time for a doctor to handle everyone's routine exams. You don't want to lose your spot on the expedition."

Channeling Rodney again he said, "Show me the list of requirements. I haven't signed anything yet, and I need to know all the conditions before we start. Either that or I want to speak with Beckett."

"You think you deserve special treatment? If you go to Atlantis will you expect the Chief Medical Officer to see to all your needs?" She tried to fasten the tourniquet band around his arm.

His hands snapped up to grab both her wrists without even a thought.

"I need to see a complete list or speak with Dr. Beckett." He tried to sounds calm, but his heart was racing. Until last week, he'd been trying to fly under the radar, pass as normal. Half the time he didn't know what normal was, and now he was restraining a woman by her wrists because she'd tried to do her job.

"Unhand me."

John took a deep breath. "Will you put the needle down and stop this until I can talk with Dr. Beckett?"

"There's no time for that. He's busy in a meeting." She tried to break his grip on her wrists, but he held tight. She was almost as tall as John and out massed him by a bit, but he was strong and his grip wouldn't be broken unless she pulled back and knew how to break a hold. But he couldn't keep her trapped, and it would be hard to explain if he left bruises.

John was considering how to let go with one hand and gain control of the needle when he heard a welcome voice approaching from the center of the base. "Just a sec, I forgot something in my lab."

Carson, John was sure that was Carson, and the man's lab was right next door.

"He seems to be on his way back," John said.

"What makes you say that?"

"I heard him saying he forgot something," John said, wondering if she hadn't heard at all.

The medical woman stomped on his foot and tried to twist away. John's grip tightened automatically and there was a faint popping sound beneath his left hand.

"Carson!" John called out, scenting panic and wondering why Carson's approach was met with an escape attempt rather than patience.

#

Carson heard his name shouted from the infirmary and ran.

What he saw through the infirmary door stopped him in his tracks. John seemed to be attacking a woman. He had both her wrists and she was fighting to get free.

But it had been John who shouted for him, not the woman. Also, the woman was wearing a medic's arm band and ID, but Carson had never met her. She was holding a needle in one hand and a tourniquet band in the other. "Both of you, stop moving and explain."

Both of them were silent for a moment. John stared at the woman as if expecting her to explain. When she only glared back at him John said, "This nurse? Medic? She was insisting she needed a new blood sample because the expedition was approved. I asked to see the list of requirements or speak to you first, and she tried to take my blood anyway."

"That's interesting, because as Chief Medical Officer for the Atlantis expedition, I was only notified of its approval five minutes ago. Ma'am, I don't believe we've met. I'm Dr. Carson Beckett, and I'd like to know what's going on here."

"Marine Medic Barbara Lewis. I arrived with the delegation from Stargate Command with orders to conduct Mr. Serano's medical screening immediately upon arrival."

"Who gave you those orders?"

"I am not at liberty to say due to security protocols involved."

"John, can you hold her while I send someone to bring the SGC delegation from the meeting room?"

"I believe so," John spoke with the fake assurance he'd used the first day at Carson's house. "Do you think you could remove the needle from her hand and make sure you call someone in here who you trust. I don't know anything about this delegation you mention or whose side they might be on."

As he took the needle from the immobilized medic's hand, Carson's brain flashed back to worries about the NID and Weapons Plus programs he'd shared upon meeting John. The doctor wished he had a better idea who he could trust with Sumner officially in charge of the military both in the Antarctic base and for the newly approved Atlantis Expedition.

#

"Dr. McKay."

Rodney thought the skinny man addressing him was a geneticist. He couldn't spare brain space for such as he fine-tuned an arc reactor algorithm and argued with Zelenka, the least useless of his new co-workers.

"Dr. McKay," the annoying pseudo-scientist repeated, "Dr. Beckett requires you immediately in the infirmary and asked that you bring a couple of strong individuals you trust on Mr. Serano's behalf."

"What?" Rodney thoughts about the power source were completely derailed. "Did something happen to John?"

"I don't really know." The mousy geneticist took forever to get the words out. Rodney waved both hands between them in a hurry up motion. "I believe he was in some sort of confrontation with an SGC medic. Dr. Beckett insisted I notify you before escorting the rest of the SGC delegation to the infirmary."

"What SGC delegation?" Rodney had expected an announcement about the Atlantis Expedition and who would be Head of Science any day now. Not that Rodney had really believed Weir's suggestion that he might have a chance at the position. Even if he was the smartest and best qualified scientist, Rodney knew most people couldn't see past his age. But if they were here and he hadn't been told—

"Dr. McKay," Rodney wanted to shout as his thoughts were interrupted again, "I don't rightly know, but will you gather your people and go to the infirmary so I can collect the delegation? I believe there was some urgency to the matter."

"Yes, go." As soon as the geneticist fled Rodney turned back to Zelenka, "Any idea who would stand up for John if this becomes a confrontation with the SGC? Preferably someone big and strong?"

"I have military experience in my country and am tougher than I look," Zelenka said with a slight frown. "Miko Kusanagi has taught self-defense. Peter Grodin can look somewhat tough if you don't know him, and he's firmly on Weir's side, which probably means John's side if needed."

"Great, grab them and meet me in the infirmary."

#

By the time Rodney charged in, Carson had Medic Lewis in medical restraints, basically handcuffing her forearms to the sides of a chair. Zelenka, Kusanagi, and Grodin followed close behind, and Carson couldn't fault Rodney's choices for loyalty, even if they weren't the most intimidating force.

"What's going on?" Rodney demanded, eyes fixed on John who had planted himself firmly against one wall.

"That's what we're about to find out," Carson said as the delegation from the SGC arrived in his infirmary. Before General O'Neill or Dr. Weir could assert control, Carson asked, "I'd like to know why this Marine medic was supposedly ordered to collect a blood sample on behalf of the Atlantis Expedition during the very meeting where I was being appointed Chief Medical Officer and Head of Science?"

"You're the Head of Science?" Rodney blurted.

"One thing at a time, Rodney." Carson watched carefully as the two other Marines who'd beamed in from the SGC moved toward the medic and the General and Dr. Jackson moved to block them.

Weir crossed her arms and said, "I'd like an explanation as well."

O'Neill stepped closer to the medic. "Sitrep. Tell me your orders, who gave them, and what happened here."

The Marine medic's eyes went wide and her body stiffened.

"She's starting to seize," Carson rushed forward.

At the same time Jackson said, "Check for a suicide pill."

Carson grabbed a roll of bandages to protect both his fingers and his seizing patient as he leaned her head forward and swept her mouth. He knew it was too late before he finished his sweep. The woman went still, and Carson checked for a pulse at the neck before stepping across the room to wipe his fingers in a sample container, just in case he'd picked up traces that wouldn't be found in autopsy. The whole thing had happened so fast that Beckett hadn't stopped to think what poisons he might be exposed to through his bare skin. He stepped to the sink and began a thorough hand washing as he announced, "Time of death, 14:32. General, is there someone you trust with this autopsy, because if that was a suicide pill, every minute counts for finding chemical traces."

O'Neill glanced at everyone present in the room then radioed up to the new BC-304 test model in orbit. "Daedalus, we need to beam up and then directly to the SGC infirmary. Tell Brightman I need the infirmary secured, and I want Teal'c and Carter there on guard immediately."

A moment later the delegation from the SGC disappeared in a beam of blue-white light, along with the medic's dead body.

"Are you okay?" Rodney asked, having somehow ended up next to John over the course of events.

"Sure thing," John answered slowly as he slouched into the wall.

Rodney's irritation only increased as he turned to the rest of the room and waved his arms. "Now what's this about making a medical doctor both Chief Medical Officer and Head of Science?"

Weir smiled sweetly and said, "He seemed to have the most managerial temperament of the available options, and he does hold both an MD and a PhD."

Rodney's mouth opened dangerously wide, promising significant volume before Carson cut in with, "Of course, I was hoping to appoint you as Head of the Physical Sciences and Engineering."

Rodney sputtered, and John patted him on the back saying, "Congratulations, buddy." The other three scientists caught on, offering their own exclamations.

Weir gave Carson an approving nod as she quietly left the room.

#

Two days later John and Rodney were working at the control chair when Daniel Jackson walked in with a military officer. All the military in the room went to attention, and John realized the man was General O'Neill, who John had seen briefly in the infirmary incident but never been introduced to. John was turning back to his work when Daniel came up to him saying, "We need a word."

Suddenly Rodney, who had apologized to John for not seeming to care when Sumner laid into him the week before last and had even stopped to ask if he was okay before pursuing his questions about the science assignments for Atlantis, was right in Daniel's face. "He's not going anywhere without me. John is my lab assistant, and anything you say to him you say to me."

A moment later Colonel Sumner was closing in, exchanging salutes with the General before saying, "Is there a problem here?"

"Oh, for cryin' out loud, I just need to talk with Mr. Serano here." O'Neill's authority carried despite his words and his barely raised voice, and John was impressed.

"Certainly, General O'Neill. Let me show you to our meeting room," Sumner said.

"I know where the dang meeting room is. Come on Serano. This is between you and me. Oh, and Daniel and Dr. Beckett. Daniel, can you find the good doctor for us?"

Rodney crossed his arms. "Surely I should be present if this pertains to the incident during your last visit."

"Nothing new to report on that yet," O'Neill said while walking away.

"In case you don't realize the other security concerns—" Sumner began.

O'Neill glanced back over his shoulder, looking almost coy. "Trust me, I know all about your request for extra security screening. Now go away, busy general here."

John thought O'Neill was less like a general than any of the military personnel he'd met so far. He brushed Rodney off saying, "It's okay. I'll be fine."

Rodney pointed at O'Neill. "But, he's military, and you're my minion, and last time—"

"Rodney," John deliberately stretched the name out to slow Rodney down, "I'm a grown man. I'll be fine."

John managed to hold his head up high all the way to the meeting room. Weir met them at the door saying to O'Neill, "I think it only appropriate that I—"

"Seriously, what is this guy a duckling or your golden goose? I'm not going to damage him, but this talk is none of your business."

Once they were in the room with Daniel and Carson, the General turned to John and said, "I have no idea how many rumors we just started, but I'm sure you'll have fun dealing with them." He sat down with a wry grin. "What I need to talk to you about is highly classified, and it doesn't leave this room. Daniel, did you give Dr. Beckett the whatsit."

Daniel rolled his eyes and turned to Carson with what John now recognized as an Ancient crystal. After a moment, the doctor pulled out his Ancient medical scanner as Daniel said, "Could you please verify how John's scan compares to reference samples A and B in that?"

At a nod from John, Carson held the scanner near him. The doctor watched the results and said, "I assume you have some reason for why this isn't a breach of privacy?"

"National security good enough for you? We're lucky Daniel isn't catching more trouble for the initial security check he pushed through." O'Neill leaned forward onto the table resting his chin on his palm. "Only Daniel could convince the head of the FBI that he didn't think it relevant that someone was half blue."

Still, Carson hesitated and looked at John. Figuring he already knew what was about to be revealed, John said, "They wouldn't be here with two samples if they didn't already have a pretty good guess."

Beckett nodded. "Sample one is a fifty percent match, generally indicating a parent or child. Sample two is only a two percent match, but all of those matches are in areas marked as spontaneous mutations."

"Well, that's just peachy," O'Neill said. He steepled his fingers and looked at John. "Soooo, John Serano, or should I say John Sheppard, do you want to tell me what you know? Or should I tell you the spooks' best guess?"

"I suspect they know more than I do," John sank back into his chair. He noticed that Carson pocketed the medical scanner.

"Ooookay." O'Neill sat up a little straighter. "It seems that Patrick Sheppard, CEO of Sheppard Industries may have expanded quite a bit beyond the utilities business. Somehow, he came into possession of genetic material from retired Colonel McKenzie, the only survivor of the first Atlantis Expedition, and now a suspected mutant activist working with a new incarnation of the super soldier program. What I'd like to know is why he tested whatever he had on his son and then burned his house down and claimed both wife and son had died."

John's shock must have shown on his face, because O'Neill said, "Out of curiosity, which parts of that weren't you expecting?"

John coughed to clear his throat. "Are you saying my mother's not dead?"

O'Neill rubbed his eyes. "Sorry, son. There was at least a body buried for her but none for you. Unless we have reason to exhume her remains, we should probably assume that part of the story is true."

"What makes you think my father burnt his own house down?" John asked, trying to sound as rational as Carson had the last time the general visited.

"It was ruled arson at the time. With what happened to you, it seemed like a readymade cover story. The insurance must have believed he wasn't at fault though. Patrick Sheppard collected the full value for the loss and lived in a company condo with his remaining son, David Sheppard, while the family estate was rebuilt."

"What?" John's head started to spin. His father had called him a freak and said the fire was probably all his fault. He'd been sold to the circus to hide his family's shame and give his dad and brother some money to start over.

"I told you he didn't remember meeting anyone blue," Daniel said to the general. Then he pulled a chair around to sit with his knees almost touching John. "Look, you can't have thought too well of your dad if he left you with some freak show at the age of ten. Do you remember anything medical or like an experiment happening before you turned blue?"

Whatever else had happened, he couldn't believe his father would have done that intentionally. His father had been shocked and angry after the fire. "No, nothing."

"Do you remember when you first started to turn blue or noticed any other changes?" Daniel asked softly.

John had thought he could never tell. He'd promised never to tell. Then he realized, all he'd promised not to tell was his family name or identifying information. These people had already found that out. "After the fire I woke up like this. I'd passed out from the smoke. The next thing I knew I was in a car with my dad and brother being told I was a freak and had to be sold to the circus to save the family."

Daniel peered at him over his glasses. "You know, sometimes kids don't remember things quite the way adults would."

John didn't know why he'd bothered to say anything. It must have shown on his face.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Daniel said. "You really were sold off to a circus of sorts, so maybe that's what your crappy father chose to tell you. I certainly heard worse BS when I was a kid. Can you remember anything else?"

John shrugged. He was done trying to explain things that didn't make any sense. "That's all I've got. I never heard of or saw Colonel McKenzie, and I really think if my dad knew he would have acted differently. He may have lied about needing the money, but I don't think he would have burned his own house down or risked losing my mom. He thought I was blue because I was some kind of freak. He even suggested my freakishness caused the fire."

"Maybe he thought you were a mutant who controlled fire," Carson spoke for the first time.

"Nobody believes stuff like that," John answered.

When the room went silent, John looked at the other three men. "Let me guess, you've got some kind of aliens who can control fires?"

It was Daniel who answered, "There are rumors of such mutations here on Earth, although there might be alien artifacts involved. Maybe your father had heard something or come into possession of something but didn't know it involved genetic material from someone who'd turned blue. Or maybe he thought you'd emerged as a mutant spontaneously or in reaction to fire?"

"Whatever." John felt like his head would explode if he heard any more. "I know nothing compared to you guys. I'd rather not be responsible for anything bad happening to my dad or brother, whatever they may have done. We all lost my mom, that's enough punishment for whatever else happened back then. Can I go now?"

O'Neill nodded. As John left he heard the man say, "That went well." He hoped it was sarcasm. Given the general's overall demeanor, it seemed likely.

#

Carson had barely closed the door to his office when he heard a light but repeated knocking. When he opened the door to find Dr. Kusanagi, a member of the science staff he only knew from reading her file, he was very surprised.

"Excuse me for interrupting," she said. "May I speak with you in private?"

"Of course." He waved her inside. "If this is about a medical matter, you really should schedule an appointment in the future."

"It is not." She took a seat in front of his desk and pulled out a ball-shaped Ancient device.

Carson didn't know what to make of that. The scientist seemed nervous as if she were a patient who didn't trust doctors, but claimed she wasn't here for medical reasons. She was the most recently recruited of the natural ATA carriers, and it was slightly worrying to have her sit silently in his office holding an unknown Ancient device. But Carson also remembered that she came with Rodney when he'd been asked to bring in people he trusted. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you. I only need a moment of your time."

Carson took a seat behind his desk. "How can I help you?"

"There is a feature we've discovered with many Ancient devices that I believe might be helpful to you as a doctor. We are still researching the details and would prefer not to write an official report yet." She held up the Ancient ball in her hand. "First, you think 'biological lock' at a device capable of doing a biological scan. If you see a symbol like this"—she held up the ball to show an image like two interlocked links in a chain—"then you can tell it to lock to your biological profile. The links will flash until the lock is complete. That should prevent anyone else from using the device or accessing data you store there, but we're not sure if it will block someone with a stronger ATA expression."

Carson thought to himself that only John and General O'Neill were known to have a stronger gene expression than his, although he worried about his own control with anything other than medical devices. Then he thought about the medical scanner in his pocket that now held John's private information in addition to two others'. He wondered how Kusanagi could know, assuming that had prompted her visit. He decided it was better not to ask, especially now that he was the official Head of Science. "Thank you, Dr. Kusanagi."

She nodded and rose from her chair. "You are welcome."

#

When Rodney entered their room that night, he found John staring at an unlit candle.

"Seriously," he shut the door and tried to speak more quietly, "your take away from that discussion was that you might have some mutant ability to start fires?"

John shrugged and laid back on his bed. "It's not entirely a new thought. I just adjusted the probability I'd assigned to it. I'd rather be able to fly though. My first year as Bug Boy I kept hoping I'd metamorphose into something cooler." The thought had passed through his mind more recently as he ran into the fire. Maybe fire could change him, either back to human or into something that made the rest worth it. "Hey, how do you know what was said in the meeting?"

"What they use as a meeting room down here has all kinds of research and recording equipment stored inside. It is probably the least secure room in this whole outpost."

John raised an eyebrow, "You think anyone else listened in?"

"Not on any equipment I control."

John smiled at him. "So, if you had a mutant power, what would you want it to be?"

"Mind control, always the optimal choice. It lets you usurp any other power you know about."

The ensuing argument made John smile even more, so Rodney counted that as a win.

#

Rodney was in a meeting with Carson, his newly appointed Head of Life Sciences and Social Sciences, Dr. Katie Brown, and his chosen administrator for the Atlantis infirmary, Dr. Charles Lin. That meant John was eating alone, very alone.

Those passing by his table would occasionally set a container of blue Jell-O in front of him without a word or a glance his way. Those doing so were almost always military, though by no means all of the military present were involved. Sergeant Bates, who had possibly the biggest stick up his ass of anyone John had ever met, stood with arms crossed at the back of the room, observing but not interfering.

John was halfway through his soup and sandwich when a very young looking lieutenant said, "Is this seat taken?"

John thought about warning him away, but he was military and should be able to read the situation at least as well as John could. "Suit yourself."

"Lieutenant Aiden Ford," he said while offering his hand and a great big smile.

John suspected a set up but played along anyway. He didn't bother trying to smile back. "John Serano, research assistant."

"I know. I'm scheduled for Atlantis, too. Pretty great." The man's uniform was neither excessively neat nor noticeably untidy, but John hadn't seen anyone else in the military smile so big or so much.

"I'd like to believe it's your birthday or you're a well-known fan of blue Jell-O."

"Nope. I'm thinking I'll give it to McKay." Rodney actually liked blue Jell-O, and John thought it might be good to own the joke that way. He still wasn't sure what Ford's angle was, but he was tired of tiptoeing around it. "I like Jell-O as much as the next guy, but I don't need the extra blue to maintain my complexion."

"There's a lot of terrible things I might say if people started delivering chocolate pudding to my table that way." Ford was still smiling around his sandwich as he said it, voice light and at regular volume. John was pretty sure at least the next table over could hear every word.

It had never occurred to John that someone with any normal human skin color might side with him that way. Recovering his voice he said, "I'd be happy to share your table should that ever happen."

"You're welcome at my table anytime. You mind if I eat one of those Jell-Os?" John felt like he'd found his little brother.

#

_They'd left Davey in the car asleep. His dad said, "Leave him be. This only needs you and me."_

_Johnny stood up proud at that, even though he was terrified of the itchy blue skin covering half his body. He'd never heard of a burn that color, but he hoped it would heal before he went back to school._

_In the middle of a big black parking lot under a big black sky his dad told him flatly, "I don't know what kind of freak you are. I don't know if you started that fire. But your mother is dead. Your brother and I lost everything. Our only chance now is to sell you to the circus. Ten years, then you can stay or go. For the sake of our family name, you must never speak of us again. Never try to contact us. You know what a promise means to a man. You promise me that like an honorable man."_

_Johnny couldn't help a sniff, but he managed not to cry. He didn't know what he’d done wrong, but he understood it made him turn blue and maybe killed his mom. His dad was telling him what he had to do to make it better. Even if it was hard, Johnny knew he had to be a man now, an honorable man. "I promise."_

_"Good. You don't want to know what will happen if you break that promise."_

_They stood in silence until another man drove up in a truck painted in bright sparkly colors. It was the most amazing truck Johnny had ever seen._

_A tall skinny man in black pants and a red shirt stepped out of the truck and walked a circle around them._

_In a tone even colder and flatter than he'd used with Johnny, his dad told the man from the truck, "You understand I know all about you, and you know nothing about me. You're getting a deal on something new, something good for your business. But there are terms for the next ten years, and if you break them, I'll know. First, no one asks the kid anything. He gets his own room, and no one messes with him. You know what I mean? And he gets an education and food. A boy can take care of himself if you keep his mind busy and his belly full. You keep anyone else from finding out anything. I know you can manage that and the paperwork. Promise and mean it, or I will ruin you."_

_"Promised on the phone, didn't I? He got a bag or anything?" The lanky man in the bright shirt slouched against his truck._

_"He's all you get. Now go."_

_As they drove away in the shiny truck the man said, "I'm going to call you Bug Boy. Bugs don't talk to no one. You can stay in my trailer for now."_

_The man put a hand on John's knee, and John moved away. He thought of what his dad had taught him about being a man. "You promised my dad I'd have my own room."_

_"All in good time. We'll paint you up a pretty bug box." The man smiled at his own joke._

_"Ten years, starting tonight. And I'm in fifth grade."_

_"Don't have grades in a traveling show."_

_John didn't know why he argued, but it felt like all he had left. "You promised my dad I'd have my own room, food, and an education. If you break your promise, I'll have to break mine, too. You don't want to know what will happen if I break that promise."_

_"Think you're so smart. Just remember you can't tell anyone anything. I'm the last person you'll ever threaten with your daddy, little boy."_

#

He woke up curled tight in a ball and whining.

"John, wake up. What's wrong? Did you have a bad dream?" Rodney lay againt his back, warm and solid.

"Serano, that shit." What he couldn't say was that his dad had been worse. How could anyone hand his own son to a man like that? At the time, John thought he was being a man by living up to his father's deal. He'd thought his dad had done the best he could in a bad situation to guarantee John had everything he needed. Now he felt dirty and manipulated, looking back on what he remembered.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Rodney asked after several minutes passed.

Stretching out on his back, John said, "Not at all."

"Okay, whatever." Rodney lay on his back beside him. Their shoulders touched. It was hard not to, and John wondered how strange it was that the two of them were sharing a bed again in Antarctica.

He wondered if Rodney ever wanted anything more. They'd each woken up hard a few times, but Rodney never did or said anything about it. John didn't know if he wanted him to or not. Jerking off was becoming a more regular thing for John than it had been in years, and he guessed it had to do with touching Rodney all night. Still, John wasn't sure if he was sexually attracted to Rodney or anyone. Before he had someone to sleep with and all that touching, the times he'd gotten hard in his life didn't seem to have to do with anyone in particular. He'd thought it might be a bug thing. Maybe he'd only react to bug pheromones. The thought of reacting to Wraith pheromones made him swear that he'd throw himself from the highest spire of Atlantis if that happened. But if it was some sort of mutation or experiment, maybe he was a freak in other ways as well.

Beside him, Rodney started squirming and adjusting his pillow. John asked, "You okay, buddy?"

"Now you've got me thinking about Serano, and I can't sleep."

"Do you want to talk about it?" John said as a tease.

Five minutes and a lot of squirming later Rodney said, "Actually, I think I do want to talk. I don't know what deal that shit made with you, but he sought me out in Canada, offered me a job based on a science project with lasers that I'd won a prize for. I was fifteen and my parents had just died. He offered papers for me and my sister, to make me her legally emancipated guardian. It looked legit. I'd already applied to college and nearly finished high school before my parent's accident. He offered to pay me in cash so it wouldn't affect my scholarship at Caltech. That way I could make enough each summer to take care of myself and Jeannie."

Rodney rolled onto his side and practically whispered the rest, acknowledging the walls weren't that thick in the Antarctic base. "I thought I was so smart. I wanted to do better for Jeannie than dragging her around in the shop trailer all summer. After the first year, I found Jeannie summer programs and a boarding school, all using the papers Serano helped me get, saying I was legally emancipated and her guardian. I didn't think it mattered if I didn't report the cash he gave me, because it probably wasn't enough to owe taxes anyway. I wasn't even sure if I'd pay taxes in Canada or the United States, and I never checked because I was so busy with school and what I did for Jeannie and trying to talk Serano's people through repairs when I wasn't there. Sometimes I'd mail him little robots and laser attachments I made. I was proud of how much better his show became in the first couple years after I joined."

John could imagine it all too well. He'd seen how in most towns Serano befriended a restaurateur or a slightly older woman who could cook. Each of them thought they were something special to Serano's Modern Wonders, whether as his special girl, a surrogate mother to the whole troupe, or some sort of modern Earth Mother Goddess with mystic connections to Serano's tribe of misfits. When Rodney shifted to prop up his head, John pulled him in to rest on his chest. All at once Rodney relaxed and sputtered out the rest of his story.

"When I was sixteen a tech company offered me an internship paying $20,000 for the summer. I called Serano like some kids would call home to share good news. I told him I'd still send him some cluster programmed cube bots I'd been making for a new display and I'd be available for phone calls like I usually handled during the school year. He said as casually as if he thought I'd known, 'But your papers will never hold up to legal scrutiny. Do you want to risk a full investigation before you're legally an adult?'"

Rodney went silent.

John said, "But you hadn't known. Serano was always good at only saying the parts people wanted to hear and trapping them with the rest. He played a slightly different game with me, making me think I talked him into all sorts of things he didn't have to give me, making me think I was lucky for every bit of freedom or luxury. What happened when you turned eighteen? Did he play on the fact that your sister was still a minor?"

"And I was technically a criminal," Rodney sounded like he was the one trapped in a nightmare now. "I'd lied about the money, and some of the supplies he talked people into giving us could have counted as stolen. I might even have counted as kidnapping Jeannie. She was annoyed with me by then, wanted more than I could give her. I didn't have the social skills to handle her or Serano."

"I don't know about your sister, but very few people had the social skills to out maneuver Serano." John thought of his father. Maybe he'd had the skills, but he'd had other power as well. John hadn't understood at the time, but thinking back there had to have been money or blackmail involved when John was handed off in that parking lot. His dad had clearly known Serano could come up with fake papers for John. Somehow, the fact that Rodney had been pulled into Serano's service with fake paper of a different kind made John want to tell the story he'd promised never to tell. Rodney had overheard the important parts already anyway.

"I'll tell you about the one man I ever saw with the skills to manipulate Serano." He gave Rodney his story for the little comfort it was worth, and it somehow helped the scientist to sleep.

#

When Carson was introduced to General Ross and told to bring John Serano to the meeting room, he felt no remorse about telling John and Rodney to gather some people they trusted and make themselves scarce. In the meeting room he made the excuse, "He's working on something classified that can't be interrupted at this time."

General Ross tapped his briefcase and said, "I only need a few minutes, and I do not like to be kept waiting."

Carson nodded and said, "I know it's difficult for the military to work with civilian scientists. But the work we're doing here is also time sensitive. As the Head of Science, I'm in charge of John Serano and his projects. If you'd like some of his time, I'll need to know why."

The General glared at Carson in a way that might have been intimidating if Carson didn't spend half his time convincing military men that doctor's orders could override military stupidity. "We have reason to believe the individual you know as John Serano to be part of another classified project that would put him under my jurisdiction and override yours."

"And when are you claiming Mr. Serano became part of this other classified project?"

"I am not at liberty to say." The general sat back, almost pushing his chair into the wall of computer hardware that covered one side of their crowded meeting room.

"I understand. All I really need to know is if you're asserting John Serano may have been involved in a classified military project before he turned eighteen. You understand that as a doctor I would have to invoke an entirely separate set of protocols if we were talking about anything done with a minor. And of course, that becomes complicated if the minor reaches the age of consent and does not consent to further involvement."

The general sat still and silent for most of a minute before saying, "We have information that might interest you as a man of science. We can help each other, or I assure you, I will get what I want in the end."

At that moment, the door burst open and Rodney stormed in followed by Kusanagi. They appeared to be arguing, but Carson knew Rodney's usual bluster too well to believe it. "Of course you pulled the wrong box out of storage. Otherwise, it would be working now."

Carson kept quiet waiting to see what the scientists would do as they hooked wires and little black boxes to a rack of electronics stored right beside General Ross and his briefcase. Ross' jaw grew tighter and tighter as Kusanagi crouched to attach some device within inches of the General's feet. He finally barked out, "What are you doing here? This is a private meeting."

"Urgent science stuff," Rodney said without looking. "You wouldn't understand."

"Unless this base is about to explode, you have five seconds to vacate this room."

"People are always talking about the danger of explosions. The probability of any such effect is very low, less than five percent. But it's more likely than us leaving this room within five seconds."

"Got it," Kusanagi said. She started to pull one metal box out from a row of nearly identical metal boxes. Then she piled several wires and little black boxes on top and left the room quietly.

"There!" Rodney waved his arms to encompass the room. With his orange fleece, he looked like ground crew directing an aircraft in for a landing. "Nothing blew up. You're welcome." He left the room a lot less quietly than Kusanagi had.

"I'm sure being the Head of Science here is quite an honor," the General sneered. "Now, if you can provide either a few minutes alone with John Serano or a blood sample that can be verified to be his, I might share with you certain information about the mutant sub-population."

The sad part was that Carson would appreciate having genetic information about known mutants. He was a geneticist first and foremost. "Unfortunately, Mr. Serano is never going to give permission for that sort of exchange. I'll see you out before we waste any more of your precious time."

"You're making a mistake." The General stood and loomed above Carson, who remained seated. "I will get what I want. If you don't help, you will get nothing or worse in return."

Carson shrugged as he pushed the panic button on the desk. "I'm sorry you feel that way."

A single knock preceded the door being opened by two Marines followed by Dr. Weir. She stayed behind the bulky young men as she asked, "General, Doctor, is there a problem?"

"I hope not," Carson said. "General Ross is in a hurry to be on his way. Perhaps an escort could help see him out more quickly?"

"I'll see to it myself," Elizabeth spoke with a no nonsense tone and only the hint of a smile, "Right this way, General."

Carson was not surprised when Kusanagi showed up in his office a few minutes later. She took her Ancient ball out of an innocuous black plastic box that looked familiar from the scene in the meeting room.

"If you have a biologically secured Ancient device, perhaps you could tell it to accept some files from my device?" Kusanagi said it without any hint that she was passing on information somehow hacked from something inside Ross' briefcase, but Carson was almost certain that was what she meant. He held his secured medical scanner beside her sphere, lock symbols flashed on both, and it was done. Carson only had a moment to think how convenient it would be if Earth devices would share information that fast by just being held close. He wondered if Stark or someone might develop mobile phones to do so, as he thanked Kusanagi and saw her out of his office.

#


	2. Chapter 2

**October, 2004- Atlantis in Pegasus Galaxy**

Stepping through the Stargate gave John a brief flash of weightlessness, of moving too fast—or too something—to comprehend.

Stepping into Atlantis was electric. John was aware in a way he couldn't define.

The floor was smooth and reddish in the dim light that came through elaborate stained glass windows. Mesh fabric and netting covered every inch of floor as if there were overlapping area rugs.

People and supplies coming through the Stargate behind him kept John moving forward. A tall woman with movie star hair pushed past him wielding a video camera as a scruffy little man in desperate need of a shower snapped photos in a circle around the room, oblivious to the traffic flow. Several scientists wielded Earth tablets and a couple had Ancient tech operating on top of whatever they carried through.

John made it to a wall where other supplies were stacked, added the totes he'd been carrying, and left his heavy backpack to one side. There should have been dozens of people ahead of him, but there were far fewer visible as he took the stairs to an open second floor.

The stairs lit up under his feet.

It was the strangest sensation, as if he was aware of something switching on before he saw the light. He looked around to see how others were reacting or if maybe no one else could see it.

Lieutenant Ford, who'd tried to freak him out just before they entered the wormhole but failed because he couldn't hide his enthusiastic grin, shoved against his shoulder. "Hey, you've got the magic step."

Seeing it wasn't happening for everyone, John remembered how some Ancient devices only initialized for strong natural ATA gene carriers. He wondered what sort of stairs needed to be initialized as he kept walking up. At the top, he discovered that Rodney had gotten ahead of him somehow. The scientist was peering down, around, and under a console to his right.

The constant repositioning reminded John of how the inventive man had rigged lights to the German wheel in his Bug Boy cage. Then a week later, he'd programmed the lights to react to John's movements and to how fast the wheel spun.

Ford followed him like a puppy as John moved to Rodney's console and touched it. Immediately it lit and flashed lights in what might be a test routine. "You get that." Both of Rodney's hands waved forward. "Why can't Beckett's gene therapy give me that?"

"That's the spirit, Rodney. Never mind about the people who didn't get any benefit at all," John teased.

"I mind," Rodney said as he tapped at the display. "Some of them could be much more productive with the ATA gene."

John rolled his eyes. Trying to sense the console's purpose as he had with similar devices in the Antarctic base, John picked up something about weather, radiation, and traffic. "Some sort of variable range sensors, I think."

"Stupid super gene," Rodney complained without looking away from the lights.

All of a sudden, the mesh covering the floor shifted and John was sent crashing into Rodney and Ford. Before he knew what had happened, they were caught in a net pouch dangling from the ceiling. Five rapid flashes of red light had him looking around. The five people not caught in nets had been blasted to the floor by light beams from somewhere above and behind John's current position.

"Are they dead?" John asked without meaning to.

"No blood that I can see," Ford said. He had maneuvered his gun to where he could site through gaps in the net, but there was nothing to target. "Private Lam is breathing. Maybe it's like a zat."

"A what?" John asked.

"A stun weapon."

John relaxed and looked around at the other people caught in nets. He counted forty-eight, with five down, that was only fifty-three. He thought the expedition was supposed to total over a hundred, but no one new was coming through the Gate. Transmissions from the MALP robot probe must have given those back at SGC some idea what was happening. And Sumner or Weir was probably coordinating a new plan via radio. With everyone talking and shouting, it was hard to tell who was doing what or who might have been in a side hall and possibly avoided the traps.

John wondered if Stargate Command would send a contingent of soldiers with weapons drawn, or maybe some scientists had developed shields to protect against stun weapons. There were still nets on the ground. It looked like a whole second layer of net traps now that John wasn't seeing them as floor coverings. He was imagining strategies the expedition members yet to come through the Stargate could use to clear the nets with or without shields to protect from stun weapons when Rodney whispered, "Have you tried deactivating the traps?"

"What? How?" John asked.

"With your stupid super gene. Seriously, what have you been doing while I was trying to think of science solutions?"

John didn't bother answering. While it was often fun to argue with McKay, this wasn't the time for it. Instead, he focused the way he would on an Ancient device and thought "off" or "release." When that didn't work, he tuned into the awareness he'd felt since arriving. He tried single words, reasoning, and visualizing the nets lowering. Nothing happened and he felt ridiculous.

Looking up, he saw how the ropes all attached to a few long cylinders. They looked like pillars hung horizontally from ropes much like those that pulled tight above the weights caught in each net. There were pulleys and a set of rods to each side to keep ropes from tangling. It was a neatly laid out system, and John could see how a second and third round of nets could be triggered manually from the same direction where the stunner blasts had originated.

That's when John realized there was no Ancient technology involved in these traps, no technology at all beyond clever rope work, pulleys and large springs wound tight to trigger each pillar shaped pulley rod. "I don't think these are original equipment. Did the previous expedition report nets or ropes on the floor when they entered or left?"

"I don't think they reported on floor covering," Rodney snapped. "Did you try?"

"Yes, I tried every way I could think of, but look at the rigging. Pili at Serano's could have made something like this. What if someone else moved in after Earth's first expedition failed?"

"You think some Pegasus natives tried the address at random and decided to take over Atlantis?" Rodney paused and shifted. "That actually makes a strange sort of sense. Why didn't anyone at the SGC think of that? Oh right, they're all idiots. And those are the people we're counting on to rescue us." He shifted again, his foot kicking John's shin in the process. "We better come up with a way to rescue ourselves."

"Wow, Rodney, I never would have thought of that. What do you think everyone in the room was doing while you were trying to think of science solutions?"

Rodney shifted to a more upright position without regard for John or Ford. "Trying not to lose circulation or dislocate any joints. Luckily, I'm a genius and can do that while contemplating the physics of the situation."

"If it helps your calculations, I think the niche where the stunner shot from is also where the nets are triggered. That doesn't prove there's only one person running defenses, but it's possible."

"Which niche?" Ford asked, showing that he was in fact listening. He'd also produced a knife from somewhere and tried sawing at the ropes. It hadn't left a mark, and John had to wonder what the Ancients made their ropes out of all those thousands of years ago.

John helped him spot the niche without being obvious, then asked his net-mates, "Do you know if anyone at the SGC has shielding that works against zats or other stunners?"

"Nothing I'm going to MacGyver up here." Nonetheless, Rodney pulled out a tablet and started calculating something.

"Anything they might use to rescue us?" John tried.

"Not that I know of, but if they haven't in all their years fighting the Goa'uld then they're even more incompetent than I thought."

At that point the Stargate shut down.

"Does that mean they've given up on us?" Someone shouted, and the whole room was silent for a moment.

"Um, do we have a medical doctor?" someone else asked.

"Yes, I'm Dr. Carson Beckett. Is someone injured?" The familiar Scottish accent was comforting to John. If only 53 of them may have made it through, he was glad to have Carson and Rodney with him.

"There's a Marine here," the voice that had asked about a doctor began. John thought it was Dr. Kusanagi.

"Private Diaz," another voice supplied.

"He's unconscious. I don't know when, but he was speaking after the nets first triggered. He didn't mention being injured. When he wouldn't answer now, I reached around as well as I could and found his head is bleeding."

"I have a first aid kit with a basic Ancient medical scanner. I think I could pass it to the next net over. Maybe they can start themselves swinging to hand it off to you. You have the ATA gene, Kusanagi. Have you ever worked with the medical scanners?"

"No, but I'll do what I can."

The whole room quieted with the chance to do something useful. First Carson contorted and worked an arm in to draw out the scanner. Then he stretched across to a net packed full of eight people, now swinging, and passed it fingertip to fingertip to one who then passed it via a couple more hands to the other side. Then that whole mess of people tried to coordinate shifting their weight side to side until the hand holding the scanner successfully passed it to Kusanagi.

"I've turned it on," she said.

"Very good," Carson replied from a position where he could barely even see her as his net slowly spun. "There's a figure like a snowman on the upper right you can press for a general diagnostic, but the scanner needs to be closer to the patient than to anyone else who isn't holding it. Keep it close to him until you feel it vibrate, then tell me what it shows."

The whole room seemed to hold its breath and the time stretched.

John could have sworn he heard the vibration before Kusanagi said, "It shows a bright yellow mark near the top of his head, slightly in the direction of his right eye."

"That's a good description, very clear," Carson said with a warm tone. "Now look closely, are there any other bright spots or flashing symbols, anything at all."

"Nothing."

Carson's voice was brighter as he said, "That's good news. We only need to worry about one injury. Now touch once on top of the bright spot, and tell me what you see."

"There's writing in Ancient. My Ancient isn't very good, but the top symbol is 'danger.' The background is a pyramid with only the bottom layer filled in." Kusanagi's voice rose as she said, "Oh! The danger symbol started blinking. What should I do?"

"Short of finding a way out of these nets, I'm not sure there's much we can do. In other circumstances, I'd suggest packing the wound, but even if I passed you supplies, you might do more harm than good trying to maneuver. Does anyone have tools that might cut these nets or see any other way out?"

John was about to volunteer his best idea when a deep voice came from the niche he'd pointed out to Ford.

"Healer, what would you need to save your patient?"

#

"Oh, hullo," Carson said, trying to sound calm around the lump in his throat. "I won't know for sure until I see the head wound, but this red bag I carry is my field first aid kit. If we could move him gently to the ground and I could examine him, there's a good chance I can save him with what I have."

"Everyone drops all weapons first."

The two Marines in the net with Carson looked at him and then one called out, "Colonel Sumner, are you here, sir?"

When there was no answer, the man's face fell, but he tried again, "Could the highest-ranking officer here please confirm orders, sirs?"

There was whispering and finally a voice said, "This is Lieutenant Ford. Is anyone above me in the chain of command here?"

There was no answer, and Carson was sure he heard McKay's voice muttering, "Not like the situation is going to improve while you reconsider regulations from a military that can't acknowledge the twenty-first century let alone a mission to another Galaxy."

"As acting senior officer," Ford said, not sounding very sure of himself at all, "I order all military to drop their firearms, safeties on, ammo out."

As weapons and ammunition dropped all around, Carson worried that his patient might be bleeding out during the delay. He was surprised when the net he was in began to lower without anyone appearing to collect the dropped weapons. As they landed and tried to find their feet and push open the net, the deep voice from before said, "Leave the weapons where they lay. All but the doctor walk to the wall on the far side of the room from my voice. Healer, there's a rope with loops already secured. You pull each knot tight around each of their wrists or I won't lower your patient."

Carson wasn't pleased about taking orders from their captor. Nonetheless, he couldn't help noticing that they were all alive and he was—with some delay—being given the chance to help someone in medical need. It seemed in everyone's best interests for him to keep things peaceful in the hope that no one else would be hurt. The two military and two civilians who'd been netted with him followed his lead and let him secure their hands to a rope along the wall that had clearly been prepared for this purpose ahead of time. The knots seemed to only slide inward, and the rope was secured at both ends to keep those tied up from leaving the wall or reaching each other. "Try not to pull these any tighter," he told those he was tying up. "I don't know how long you'll be left like this, but I will do my best to see we work something out."

Then finally the net with his patient was lowered. Carson guided his patient's body to lie flat on the floor. Kusanagi handed him the scanner, her face blank but not looking like she was in shock. Their captor instructed her to secure the others to the wall as Carson secured a sterile dressing and completed two more detailed scans. The results made him squeeze his eyes tight, before looking up to where the voice had come from so far.

"There's swelling and bleeding in the brain," Carson said, keeping to simple facts. "Those who came here before us said there was an infirmary with gurneys and a fully equipped surgery. If I don't get him there soon, he will die."

The pause after his words was longer than he liked. "You have a healer's oath against unprovoked killing?"

"Not exactly. We have a commitment to do no harm to a patient. My personal morality would prevent me from hurting you so long as you have not hurt anyone here and you allow me to treat my patient."

"And you can work the medical equipment here?"

"I believe so."

"Tie the woman's wrists and wait."

Carson hated to leave his patient, but he set the scanner to monitor him and went to tie Kusanagi's wrists. "You did a good job," he told her. Looking at the rest of them tied to the wall he said, "Thank you all for staying calm and trusting me. I will do my best to be the voice of reason as well as to save Private Diaz."

"You do the best you can, Dr. Beckett." He looked toward the voice and saw Elizabeth Weir looking painfully squished near the bottom of one net. "We will all be fine."

"Glad you're still with us, Dr. Weir, and thank you."

Carson was kneeling with the scanner back in hand when he heard noise outside a dark recess that could have been a doorway. Instead of a door opening, a large slab, like a table on end, was forcibly pushed aside. An Ancient gurney much like they'd found in the Antarctic base was shoved into the room.

Carson didn’t bother asking for help. He knew there wasn't a spine injury and time was most important. He maneuvered the gurney over a couple yards of netting and lowered it to a few inches above the ground. Then he moved his patient's torso followed by his lower body.

As he raised the gurney and shouldered his medical kit, the voice from before spoke loudly from just outside the door. "I've set up explosives. Do anything to me, and you won't find them all in time to save yourselves."

Carson made his way to the door. He wasn't surprised to see a large man with a strange gun standing in the shadows just outside. The man motioned Carson to the right with a flat hand. Carson pushed the gurney down the hall as the very large man pushed what was in fact a table back in front of the doorway. Carson was wondering how far it was to the infirmary as strips of light appeared in some hallway pillars. Others glowed softly behind some sort of bubbling liquid. As they lit where Carson walked, he became certain their captor didn't have the ATA gene and had been working in darkened corridors lit only by the occasional stained glass window. He wondered what the man thought of all the lights coming on even as the man in question passed him, gun in hand, and guided him into a room.

"Tell me if you need anything held or charged," was all the large man said as an immense infirmary lit up around them.

#

"With your help," John said to Rodney and Ford, "I could get to where the ropes converge and probably lower everyone down."

"No way," Ford said, "how you gonna do that?"

John couldn't believe this guy who sounded younger than him was currently in charge of their military. While he didn't like Sumner and probably wouldn't have liked whoever the next two were in rank between Sumner and Ford, he couldn't believe they would ever have left Ford in charge by design. Still, he was glad there were only three of them in the net, and they were all reasonably strong. "We're going to pull ourselves up, hand over hand, until the top loop is slack enough for me to slide out. Then I'll shimmy up the rope, along the rigging, and over to where the ropes converge."

"And if there's a second, third or fourth shooter?" Rodney asked.

"They'd probably only stun me."

"You'd fall ten meters to the floor," Rodney snapped.

"I didn't know you cared." John said it sarcastically, because he couldn't quite handle having someone even think about the consequences to him. "If it makes you feel better, the smart move would be to stun all three of us once they realize what we're trying."

"It probably won't work anyway," Rodney said, but he lifted his hands as he said it.

John helped them all find places to grip based on their positions and reach. He pulled the gloves off his hands to get a better grip, even knowing the whole room would probably watch once they put the plan in motion. Enough people had seen his blue hand when Kavanagh made a scene, that he figured most of the expedition already knew. Still, he was glad Ford barely flinched when their hands brushed.

McKay's bottom hand was lowest, so he made the first reach. Ford moved immediately after and then John. When Rodney hesitated John said, "Do it fast and we won't have to support the weight as long." After that Rodney managed surprisingly well.

The rest of the room grew quiet again and watched, but surprisingly, no one asked questions. John guessed the military wouldn't question Ford, but his experiences with the scientists had led him to believe they'd question anything. It occurred to him that even confident, inquisitive people might stay silent in an unfamiliar situation if everyone around them was. Or maybe the scientists had all considered the possibility of audio surveillance before he did.

Either way, it was a lot like being back in his cage, climbing the walls and brachiating across the ceiling. All eyes were on them, and nobody spoke. They watched him like a bug. Only this time, his performance had a purpose.

Rodney grunted when John stopped supporting his share as he slipped through the loose loop at the top. Both McKay and Ford kept their hold steady. John held on tight and climbed up and across the ropes and horizontal pillars as Ford guided Rodney through lowering them both to their original position without dropping.

John had compared the rope work to carnival rigging before, but he was surprised to find out how similar it was. In no time at all he cataloged the maze of ropes. He lowered Rodney and Ford to the floor first, figuring Rodney would check the short-range scanners and Ford should be in position to direct his troops. Besides, their net was the lightest with only two people left. After that, he lowered Weir's groups, since she was technically in charge. And then he worked with whichever ropes were most convenient. By some unspoken agreement, no one spoke above a whisper.

Afterward, John watched from the niche with the ropes as the scientists crowded around Ancient consoles and Ford sorted the military to positions around the room. Out of sight in his niche, John noticed a gap, just barely visible beneath one of the square wall panels. It was too small to pry his fingers into, but when he tapped the panel it swung open to reveal a vent at least four feet high and four feet deep. It was large enough to hide several people. There were even pull down steps to provide easy access and a grayish glow provided light through a square lattice pattern in the ceiling. John wanted to crawl inside, map the hidden passages of Atlantis that their opposition clearly knew already. Cataloging possible escape routes and hiding places had helped him rescue Ziva the Bendy Child before, but he didn't have time for such explorations now. Instead, he closed the panel and waited.

#

"I think he'll make it. I won't know if he's lost any physical or mental function until he's at least awake," Carson said as he pulled off bloody gloves. "Thank you for your help and for bringing us here." The man had been a surprisingly good assistant, although Carson still didn't know what his offer to charge things had meant. All the surgical tools seemed to be fully charged, including the laser device which had worked almost automatically once Carson had confirmed all the settings.

"Wouldn't keep a healer from his work." The man said it as if he was quoting something, and Carson thought how strange it was that the Stargate could provide translation between people who might have no common referents.

"I'll need to stay with him," Carson said, hoping he wasn't pushing his luck.

"Think you could do another surgery while you wait."

Carson raised an eyebrow. "What do you need, lad?"

"There's a tracker in my back. If you can get it out, I could leave here."

Carson didn't like the sound of that at all. "You'll need to tell me a little more if I'm to help, but first, would you tell me your name?"

"Specialist Ronon Dex. You can call me Ronon."

"And I'm Doctor Carson Beckett, but I'd be pleased if you'd call me Carson." As Ronon gave the briefest of nods Carson realized the man's gun had been put away since the beginning of surgery. Carson had wielded tools that could have been used as weapons, but Ronon had trusted him, probably because he was a healer. It seemed to mean more to Ronon than just a doctor, and Carson didn't want to make any missteps with whatever trust he'd been given. "Please, tell me whatever you can about the tracker, what it does, and how it was put on."

Ronon sighed and for the first time his shoulders slumped. "Wraith made me a Runner rather than food. Tried to cut it out myself one time but couldn't. Couldn't go near people anywhere else or Wraith would kill them. City of the Ancestors let me in, and Wraith can't find me here."

"Oh my," Carson laid a hand on Ronon's shoulder and felt the man tense before relaxing into the touch. By now Carson was fairly sure Ronon was alone here. The doctor kept his hand in place as he shifted behind to see the scars that reached to his patient's neck. They were old scars. "How long ago was this?"

"Three local years here, about the same Running before that."

Carson suddenly saw the traps in front of the Gate and the whole situation with Ronon very differently. The man's leather and cloth clothing was worn but carefully mended. Ronon must have done that himself. For six years he'd had only himself to rely on. For three he'd basically trapped himself in order to stay hidden on Atlantis. Somehow he'd kept himself clean and fed in a city where he couldn't even turn on the lights. "You'll need to remove your shirt and vest and move your hair while I check you over."

Ronon did as requested while Carson checked on Diaz.

"Come over to the big scanner," Carson said. "You're my patient now, and I swear I won't try to harm you or mislead you in any way. Do we need to worry about the timer on the explosives if this might take a while?"

Ronon shook his head, and Carson wondered if there really were any explosives.

The scanner showed no fewer than twenty-six knives hidden on Ronon's person, almost half in his hair. It also showed a long thin tracking device set dangerously close to the spine. "You never could have cut this out yourself. I'm amazed you didn't damage your nerves trying. The same laser tools I used on Diaz will make short work of it though. I'll need to give you at least a local anesthetic to numb the area."

"Don't need it."

"Please, even a slight twitch during the surgery could damage you for life. And I can't in good conscience operate under those conditions."

"Won't affect my mind?"

"No, I promise."

Ronon let Carson administer the local, clean the surgery site, and remove the device. After he had stitched and covered the area, a heavy metal box popped out of the wall. That hadn't happened after the surgery on Diaz, and Carson could only guess it was to properly dispose of the tracking device.

By the time Carson had finished cleaning the surgical tools and checking on Diaz, Ronon was sitting on the edge of a hospital bed. When Carson came to check on him, Ronon reached out and pulled the doctor into a tight hug. Carson carefully returned the hug with his hands low on Ronon's back to fully avoid the surgery site.

The embrace was unexpected and very intimate. Carson tried to pull away, but Ronon moved against him with a very prominent erection. "Do you want?"

Carson didn't want to offend a man who probably hadn't had any human contact let alone intimacy in six years. Parts of his body were in fact quite enthusiastic at the blatant attention from a shirtless and very beautiful young man. The doctor leaned his head close to Ronon's trying to show caring without flirtation. "Among my people, it would not be right in this situation. You're my patient, much younger than me, and to most interpretations holding my people captive. But I appreciate the offer."

"Healer's choice. Would like to offer again, but I'm guessing your people aren't very captive anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Traps weren't really meant to hold for this long. Not meant for returning Ancestors either. No explosives. Probably someone will try to shoot me."

Carson shook his head against Ronon's neck and tried to wrap his mind around an increasingly bizarre set of circumstance. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

#

Rodney figured out how to scan within Atlantis. Before the last net was lowered, he had command of the console John had activated. "We need to replace the city's power supply before anyone with the gene activates anything else."

"We need to secure the city first," Ford said from the lower level. "Can you search for hidden explosives?"

Rodney complained even as he tried to search. "Not knowing if they're chemical, nuclear, or organic, I won't know what to scan for until we find a sample or one explodes."

"Not particularly helpful, doc."

Weir came to look over Rodney's shoulder. He shrugged away from her as she said, "It's hard to say in a first contact situation, but the alien's non-lethal traps and concern for our wounded suggest he was bluffing about the explosives."

"Technically, we're the aliens and he's most likely indigenous, or at least more local than we are." The tall and gangly man who spoke was a botanist. Rodney couldn't remember his name.

A scraping sound came from the exit their captor had opened for Carson before. All the military who had retrieved and reloaded their guns were suddenly targeting the door. Rodney hid behind his console, and Weir ducked down beside him.

"A little help here?" Carson's Scottish accent came through loud and clear, but his voice was strained as he pushed something heavy.

"Are you alone, sir?" Ford asked from the edge of the stairs where he was holding his P90 ready to fire.

"Aye, the previous resident told me you'd probably freed yourselves by now and gave me a tool to safely release the hand restraints by the far wall."

"Maintain cover," Ford said while looking at the men closest to the door. "Sergeant Stackhouse, assist the doctor with opening the door then stand guard there."

"Yes, sir." A young Marine with deep set eyes and short brown hair pushed with his shoulder and had the door clear in half a minute.

Carson stumbled in saying, "I need to get back to the infirmary to monitor Private Diaz. He is stable now, but I won't know more until he wakes. Ronon said the release tool for the restraints would work for anyone now that it's charged." He held up a tool that looked like a sonic screwdriver and one of the engineers rushed forward to examine it. "He didn't want to stay too long to explain, but it sounds similar to implants I've seen that use memory metal. He mentioned something about the need to charge the medical instruments as well, but it doesn't seem related to the ATA gene, and doesn't seem to involve initializing anything."

Carson had turned to leave after handing off the device. Ford jumped forward and caught the doctor by the arm. "Doc, I'm sorry but I need all the intel you've got."

"What? Oh, I don't think Ronon will bother us," Carson said. "He's worried you'll shoot him, but I don't believe he's a threat. Perhaps we can talk later about how best to approach him as an ally? I need to return to my patient."

"Is there someone else you could send, Carson?" Weir was making her way down the stairs as she spoke.

Carson rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Dr. Lin?" He looked around. "Has anyone seen Dr. Lin?"

"Dr. McKay," Ford said, "Can that machine tell you what happened to the rest of our people?"

Rodney waved his arm and stopped short of thumping it on the Ancient console. "I'd like to look into that, but our first priority needs to be hooking up a new power supply."

"Our first priority is securing the base."

"Fine!" Rodney shouted, losing his temper. "You do that while I take my MAP device to the ZedPM chamber and keep the city cloaked and above water."

In the pause that followed, John swung down from the niche with the net controls and landed solidly on the Gate Room floor. Rodney's mind flashed back to his antics as Bug Boy. "Look, we need to secure critical areas first, right?" John nodded to Ford who nodded back almost like a ventriloquist's dummy. "So, send a military escort with McKay or some other scientist to secure the ZPM room. Send an escort with someone medical to secure the infirmary. And probably a similar group to secure the Control Chair. Anything critical we're missing? Anyone?" John scanned the faces in the room while Ford and Weir waited with slightly raised eyebrows.

Rodney had been looking into an isolated and unexpected energy reading before John interrupted. "It looks like we've got something powered up on the West Pier. It's labeled as a greenhouse, but it could be the alien's base of operations."

"Fine," Ford said, looking a lot more confident as he scanned his troops. "Beckett, McKay, and Brown, assign your people. Sergeant Bates, assign two person military escorts to guard each critical area as well as the Gate Room. Sort the rest into patrols."

"Yes, sir," Bates said.

"And no activating Ancient technology until we install our new power source," Rodney reminded everyone.

"Right." Ford turned to face most of the crowd below. "Military personnel, form up."

#

John found himself stationed with Dr. Zelenka at the consoles above the Gate Room as Rodney took off with his MAP device and sent Kusanagi to the Control Chair. Brown went to see the greenhouse herself. Beckett sent Dr. Biro and a nurse named Marie to the infirmary while Ford and Weir made him recount everything he knew about the Pegasus native who'd captured them, Specialist Ronon Dex. John found the description of Ronon fascinating even as he tried to help Zelenka find information on the missing expedition members.

Zelenka cursed in Czech then said, "Does anyone here read Ancient well?"

"I've been studying it!" A thin but fit young man who introduced himself as, "Dr. Corrigan, anthropologist," rushed up to the console. John looked around the rest of the room and saw a lot of bored scientists. Weir had sent her support staff into a meeting room and had them drawing up plans of some sort, but she was busy listening to Carson now.

John knew what it was like to feel useless, so he called out to the bored scientists below, "Could some of you start a list of whichever people or supplies you can identify as missing?" The whole group started exchanging notes. Soon John was trying to filter names and theories from that group, possible translations suggested by Corrigan and Zelenka for what had happened to their lost expedition members, as well as follow up questions to Carson.

"I think we've got something," Zelenka finally announced.

"Yes?" Ford and Weir said simultaneously.

Weir rushed up to stand beside Zelenka and Corrigan, staring at the screen full of Ancient. "What is this?"

"There seems to be a safety protocol that rerouted the rest of our expedition to a quarantine area."

"Within Atlantis?" Weir asked.

"No, it has another Gate address."

Weir squinted at the address. "Did anyone know an open Stargate could send people to two different addresses?"

Zelenka shook his head. "No, but it seems to be a very fast switching algorithm rather than holding two destinations open at once. What I can't determine is the criteria for the quarantine."

Corrigan put in, "Our best translation for the term used is 'hazardous.'"

"Fantastic," Ford said from the base of the stairs.

"Stargate Command ran thorough health screenings before we left," Weir said.

Zelenka shrugged, "Only for illnesses we know about in the Milky Way."

"Stargates in the Milky Way deal with pathogens, but I've never heard of any sort of quarantine, just forms of in transit inoculation or decontamination," Carson said.

"The quarantine protocols here also mention mental health," Corrigan pointed to a word on the screen, but John's Ancient was much too limited to read it.

"Drs. Heightmeyer and Woo screened everyone personally." Weir crossed her arms as if annoyed that their preparations were being questioned by an Ancient screening system.

"Do we have a list ready of those missing?" John asked.

Weir glared at John as if he was talking out of turn, but she stayed quiet as one of the scientists ran up the stairs brandishing a chart laid out on graph paper. John thanked the woman with an Italian flag on her uniform and said, "It appears we're only missing one physical Scientist, Dr. Kavanagh." John heard the scientist who'd brought the list mutter, "good riddance," under her breath. "None of the life scientists or social scientists. Two medical staff out of eight. One of your administrative staff."

"Julia Kahn," Dr. Weir stated.

"About half the military and the entire second wave of expedition members."

"The plan was to hold the second wave back at any sign of trouble," Weir said. "Stargate Command either realized people were being diverted or saw us caught in nets."

"To which they responded by closing the Gate," John said.

"We aren't sure what they knew or what the power drain was with the Gate sorting between two destinations," Weir defended.

"If the pathogen is easily transmitted, it could have started with the military and spread to those in closest contact with them," Carson suggested from near the door, where he still stood between Ford and Stackhouse. "Probably not airborne."

"Can you read off the names?" Ford asked. "I want to see if we can make any connections."

John carefully read the military names and then the others. Ford looked displeased, but no one else seemed particularly put out. "It also looks like most of our food supplies were sent to the quarantine site, which could suggest the supplies were infested, but they received most of the tents and survival gear as well."

"You think the Gate sorted for what each group would need?" Weir asked.

Zelenka began searching new displays on the console.

"That would assume we have food as well as shelter available here." John wondered about the greenhouse Rodney had mentioned.

At that moment, Rodney's voice cut in over some sort of Ancient public address system. "We have a new power supply in place, everyone. You can activate lights and necessary devices, but don't waste it." In an even more demanding tone he added, "I'll be keeping an eye out for excessive power usage, and remember, I control assignments to clear the Ancient sewage system."

Weir rubbed her temples, but John couldn't help smiling a bit.

Ford spoke into his radio, "Dr. McKay, do we have sufficient power to contact Earth and discuss our situation."

The reply came back over the public address. "Set up a file with everything we want to tell Earth and have Zelenka compress it for data transmission in under thirty seconds. We can support that once or twice a week for several months. They can use the MAP we left there to power their reply."

Ford shook his head at the ceiling and Rodney's broadcast reply. Then he asked, "Dr. Zelenka, how much power would we need to dial the quarantine site and communicate by radio?"

John knew the answer before Zelenka said, "Eight orders of magnitude less than to communicate with Earth."

"Let's try to contact our people there before we send our report back to Earth." Ford came up the stairs to stand beside Weir. "Can we record this?"

Zelenka nodded.

The Gate dialed. It was fast and sleek compared to the Gate on Earth. John felt the beauty of it like warmth on his skin.

"Lieutenant Ford to Colonel Sumner, over."

A gruff voice immediately replied, "This is Colonel Sumner, report."

"Fifty-three members of the expedition arrived in Atlantis. Key areas have been secured and the new power source is installed. Patrols are securing other areas. We have had mixed interactions with one Pegasus native who claims to have been living in Atlantis for the last three years. Systems here suggest personnel with you were rerouted due to an unknown quarantine protocol. We plan to send a compressed data report to Earth and will include a recording of this communication and any other intel you provide, sir."

"Have you secured the intruder?" Sumner asked.

"No, sir. I have collected intel and sent out patrols."

"First priority is to capture, interrogate, and secure the intruder. Second priority, find a way to override the quarantine if you need military support. What is the status of Serano?" Sumner's voice had been level as he spoke of "the intruder" but his dislike rang through as he asked about John.

"He got us out of the net traps and helped get people organized, sir." Ford stood at attention and looked straight ahead as if he was speaking to his commanding officer in person.

"Serano is to be kept under observation and confined to base. Is Weir present?"

Weir shook her head but said, "Good to hear your voice, Colonel. Is everyone with you alright? Do your people need anything?"

"We have 36 first wave present and accounted for, 4 civilians, 32 military. Supplies should be adequate for at least two months without supplementation. No indigenous hostiles or hazardous wildlife identified at this time. When we try to pass through the Gate here, it spits us right back out where we started and will not connect to Atlantis at all. It sounds like you have a foothold situation there, which means the base should be under military control."

Weir crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. "Our squatter used intentionally non-lethal defenses and retreated after receiving medical aid. Our military contingent is currently at half capacity, and my staff is already reorganizing cooking and set up plans to cover that shortfall."

After a pause, Sumner said, "You have eggheads working out ways to get us back or fix whatever got us quarantined?"

"We are working to bring your people back as soon as it can be managed safely—"

Sumner interrupted. "The safety of Atlantis has to be top priority. If the intruder or other forces attack, I trust you will defer to my judgment or the Lieutenant's, as the situation warrants." Sumner did not wait for a reply. "My people can't dial in to Atlantis. I expect you to call us to check in every twelve hours or as soon as you hear back from Earth. Understood?"

"We'll check in and keep you posted," said Weir dryly.

"Yes, sir," said Ford.

"Sumner out."

#

Ronon listened from the vent near his original perch in the Gate Room.

The invaders described him as both "intruder" and "native." When he'd arrived in the city, he'd seen signs of recent visitors and that the city had been below water for many years before. These people were returning from somewhere else but believed they had a right to the Ancestor's sanctuary.

Some of them could use the Ancestor's devices. Were they more truly the Ancestor's descendants than he was? Why had the Ring of the Ancestors, what these people called the Gate, refused so many of their people access to the city?

He saw the blue hand of one man at a console and almost shot him. But the consoles and lights treated the man like an Ancestor. Ronon would wait. He would watch the intruders and defend the city if needed.

#

John sat in his own room, next door to Rodney's, but all alone. He thought the temperature warmer when he shivered. He thought the lights lower because his eyes were tired. He'd tested his walls for vent access and finally found a swinging panel above the shower, with a simpler but still effective set of pull down steps. After a half-hearted peek, he'd decided serious exploration of the residence area vents should wait for a time when people were less likely to be using their showers or bathrooms.

His connection to the Ancient city was convenient and somewhat amusing, but on another level, it made John feel more alien than before. And ridiculous as it was, he missed Rodney. With his own room and a huge understaffed city to maintain, he wondered how often he'd even see the one person he'd come to consider a friend.

The door chimed, and John thought it open.

A startled Ford said, "How did you—super gene, right."

John had already started to take his mental control over doors, light, and so many things for granted. It felt natural. "You keeping an eye on me for your boss?" He tried to smile the way Serano had when he wanted to stay on people's good sides but wasn't sure of their allegiances.

"I wanted to talk. Got a minute?"

"Make yourself at home." John waved his arm at the room which only contained the child-sized bed John was sitting on, his guitar, a sort of desk and chair, and one box with his uniforms and possessions.

Ford casually leaned against the wall, and John adjusted his position on the bed to lounge more the way Serano had when impressing possible show patrons with his nonchalance.

"You notice anything about the list of people quarantined?" Ford began.

"They're mostly military." John didn't have to pretend his lack of knowledge.

"Every Marine who left blue Jell-O on your table is currently confined with Colonel Sumner, who's had it in for you since the one scientist with them, Dr. Kavanagh, revealed your blue skin."

"So, they spread germs to each other while plotting to beat me up or something?"

"You been roughed up by some of them?"

"Only Sergeant Bastian took it that far. You think the city quarantined them because they're threats to me?"

"You're the closest we've got to an Ancient."

"First, you're implying some sort of artificial intelligence and I don't know, mind reading or something while in transit through the Gate."

"Stranger things have happened with the Stargate program."

It was easy to forget that while Ford looked as young as John, he was a veteran of SGC. "What about the two medical people? Beckett hasn't let any other medical staff near me since the incident with Lewis."

"Maybe it reads intent? Maybe it thought the quarantined group needed medical support the way they needed food and tents. You know the other civilian, Julia Kahn?"

"I don't think I ever met her, and I didn't know most of the military by name either."

"If something read your mind, it could have identified faces, or read bad intent in other minds."

"You talked to Heightmeyer or Woo about that?"

"You saying I'm crazy?" Ford shook his head like it was a joke, but his face was more serious than usual.

"I'm not saying anything, but if you're guessing what's in people's minds, you might as well ask the shrinks."

"Yeah, okay." After a long pause Ford said, "You did good today, both with the nets and getting people organized."

"At your service," John said with a flourish and then regretted echoing that bit of Serano.

Ford didn't seem to care. "Goodnight," he said as he left.

John buried himself under his covers feeling more alien and alone than before.

#

Rodney did not sleep well. He fumbled out of bed but couldn't figure out where he'd packed clean underwear. After tossing the contents of his personal allowance box all over the custom mattress he'd brought in as "mission essential equipment," he ended up wearing his briefs from the day before turned inside out.

Pounding on the next door in his hall, which he was ninety percent certain had been assigned to John, produced no results. Wandering by the lab Rodney had claimed for himself, Zelenka, and Kusanagi, produced neither Zelenka nor Kusanagi. He continued to the infirmary where he finally found Carson.

"Carson, I can't find John." He seated himself on a convenient exam table.

Carson was sorting bottles and labels onto shelves while ticking off items on his tablet. Rodney briefly wondered where his own tablet had gone.

When Carson turned around he seemed surprised to see Rodney sitting there. "Sorry, Rodney, I was caught up in my work and didn't hear you come in. I take it you're here for the ATA check-up? It's ridiculous that they couldn't provide clearance before we assembled at SGC for departure. And now Dr. Lin is gone, and with Biro the only other MD, my acting infirmary administrator has to work nights so one of us is always available."

Carson prepared to draw blood as Rodney stared and said, "I can't find John. Or coffee."

"He may be at the greenhouse already. I think that was his assignment for this morning." Carson cleaned and prepped Rodney's arm before jabbing him with the needle.

"Ouch, ouch, ouch! Aren't you supposed to numb the site first?" Rodney snatched his arm away as soon as Carson put a bandage on it. "And why would you assign my minion to the greenhouse?"

"Only 53 of us made it to Atlantis, Rodney. I spent hours with Weir and Ford last night reassigning non-critical personnel to cover some of the work the military and second wave people would have done. Haven't you checked your messages and the assignment sheet? Where's your tablet? All coffee and other food supplies are restricted to the mess hall for the time being."

"John's not non-critical." Rodney shook his head not liking that idea at all. "I need him to find the lab coffee maker, and maybe my underwear. It's missing. Oh, and I might need his ATA to test items in the lab. And I don't know where the mess hall is."

"Rodney." Carson snapped his fingers in front of Rodney face and put on his most serious bloodhound, problem-solving face. "Rodney, have you eaten since arriving on Atlantis."

Rodney nodded. "I ate a powerbar I found in with the lab equipment last night."

The next thing Rodney knew Carson was scanning him with the doctor's favorite Ancient device, the same one he'd used when John first tracked him down back on Earth. He started lecturing Rodney about his hypoglycemia, but Rodney's mind was fuzzy and kept wandering. He only vaguely realized that was due to his hypoglycemia.

"Can that tell how strong each person's ATA expression is?" Rodney pointed at the medical scanner still in Carson's hand.

Carson shook his head and put his free hand on Rodney's shoulder. "We don't have a numerical measure for that, and it may vary with time and specific applications. Let's go get some breakfast. We'll make sure you know where the mess hall is and then find your tablet and go over the adjusted science assignments."

#

As John made his way to the greenhouse, he figured he was about as non-essential as it was possible to be. Rodney probably wouldn't even notice his absence.

"Are you in charge here?" John asked the woman with reddish-brown hair and a tan and blue science uniform who was hovering beside a console at the front of the greenhouse.

"Yes, I guess I am." She smiled in a girl next door way and held out a hand saying, "Dr. Katie Brown, botanist."

"John Serano, math and lab assistant," he said as they shook. He'd heard of Dr. Brown but not met her before.

"I don't suppose you have any knowledge of botany, biology, or even gardening?"

John was pretty sure he'd never planted a seed or watered a houseplant, even as a child. "Nope."

"Math," Dr. Brown said tilting her head. "And from what I saw yesterday, you're pretty good at climbing. If I gave you some graph paper, do you think you could map out basic dimensions of the greenhouse and what's up there?" She gestured to some catwalks and a pipe system that ran along the walls and ceiling. In some places plants were layered on clear shelves up to what had to be a twenty-foot-high ceiling. "Dr. Parrish is trying to match the plants to the seedbank, but we could fill that information in later if you block in the planters and hydroponics on your map."

"Sounds fun," John said, and it was. He started with a quick survey to take measurements at ground level and then spent the rest of the morning climbing up and down. He mapped not only the pipes that brought water and nutrients but a system of wires and crystals he was sure made up a monitoring system. He also charted the path of a small round robot that seemed to clean the greenhouse windows much the way a snail might clean a fish tank.

A couple hours in, John noticed an odd smell above the seedbank. He was surprised Dr. Parrish, who'd been back and forth checking labels on the drawers of the seedbank several times, hadn't noticed. But there had been a few instances in Antarctica where John had wondered if other people's awareness of smells, and their environment in general, might be rather limited.

Climbing up to inspect the ceramic roof of the seedbank, John found a blanket roll and the remnants of a fire. There was smoke discoloration leading up to a window that must have been used as a vent, but the seedbank itself was solid with no hidden access panels that John could find. It was easy to smell that fish had been roasted over the fire, and a quick sniff of the blankets confirmed they'd been used by the native who'd initially trapped the expedition, Ronon.

Unrolling the bedding, John found a couple of hand tools and another round robot. They seemed odd items to sleep with, but John had already mapped where the charging station was. He carried them down and found all three items were fully charged. The station gave only a brief glow to acknowledge his ATA gene when he slotted each item in. When he tried holding the small round robot up to the glass wall of the greenhouse, it immediately set off in the opposite direction of the one already working.

Unlike most of Atlantis, the walls and devices in the greenhouse didn't seem to need John's ATA gene. The area was probably set to operate without Ancient oversight for long periods of time.

The console where Dr. Brown still worked felt warm and cozy at the edge of John's awareness, but he had no urge to interact with Brown or anyone else. After weeks cooped up in the Antarctic base, constantly required to interact with people, John was enjoying the time to himself and the wide-open feel of the greenhouse. Once the expedition settled in, he might try making some hammocks or a climbing net out of the memory rope to create a suspended lounge in the greenhouse. For the time being, he noted the location of Ronon's nest and charted the new algorithm the window cleaning robots seemed to be using now that there were two of them.

#

Ronon had to shift observation positions to keep watch on the blue-skinned man, John Serano, as he seemed to map all supplies and exits in the greenhouse.

The man moved like something hunted, not a hunter. He didn't move or smell like a Wraith. That didn't mean he wasn't a danger.

His awareness of his surroundings—the way he zeroed in on Ronon's bedroll and then studied the paths of the window cleaning machines—was different from those who came with him. Perhaps John had been hunted on his home planet. He introduced himself as an assistant, which could mean he'd been captured and forced into servitude.

A loud man came running into the greenhouse. "John! John! Look, I'm invincible." The man ran straight at the wall of the seedbank, face first. Some force like invisible hands stopped him short of crushing his nose.

John ran and jumped along walkways near the ceiling, rushing toward the loud man from the other end of the greenhouse.

"What are you talking about, Rodney?" he shouted back.

"I found a personal shield that works with my new ATA expression. I need to find a soldier to shoot at me." The new man, Rodney, was climbing up to join John on the catwalks. The woman at the console and the man checking the seedbank watched with open mouths.

"Shielded or not, I don't think you want to encourage the sort of guys who would take you up on that."

"I bet you'd shoot me if you had a gun."

The wide-eyed look on John's face at that remark showed that if he was a servant, he wasn't one who wished to hurt this bossy man.

Then Rodney was jumping from the railing nearest the ceiling. John was laughing at his antics. The woman who'd barely left the console area before ran over to worry at Rodney. When she reached out to touch him, her hand jerked back as if stung.

"Personal shield!" Rodney crowed. "I am invincible."

"Look at that," John called from above. The three down below rushed to watch through a clear side wall in the direction where he pointed. "There's a little boat, like a remote-controlled jet ski, coming in piled high with wood."

"Do you think the alien is controlling it?"

"Ronon?" John asked. "You mean the guy who lived here and cooked fish over a wood fire on top of the seedbank? I bet that's how he gets his firewood—whether he's controlling it, someone sends it, or it's some automated function of the city."

"This console might tell me if I could find the right screen," the woman said.

With three jumps John made it to the ground beside the console. It glowed brightly at his touch and then scrolled through pages without him moving his hand. Ronon's viewpoint didn't give a good line of sight on what the Ancestor's system was showing John, but in the flickering blue glow, the man no longer looked hunted. Suddenly he stood tall and assured, the image of an Ancestor in their own domain.

"It's a supply drone," John announced. "There are ways to program them from here, but it looks like some sort of touchpad on the device was used to request wood and fish. It says the user charged the device. Everything to do with this greenhouse was somehow powered by Ronon until we installed MAP in place of the ZPMs."

"How?" Rodney asked, bumping up against John as he rushed to see the console.

"Hey." John stepped away from the console. "Turn that off if you're going to bump into me."

Rodney reached for the console screen and found he couldn't touch it. "Off, off, off! I can't. It won't listen."

"Calm down." John reached out to calm the frantic man but stopped his touch in time. At least he learned fast. Ronon still didn't like the look of that blue hand, but he could see there was no feeding orifice on either palm. "You can operate Ancient tech with your mind if you get yourself in control."

"Okay, good, good." Rodney took a long deep breath and then blurted out, "Wait, how am I going to eat like this? Not that I'd want fish delivered by some dubious Ancient drone, but Carson just treated me for hypoglycemia and now this stupid shield won't let me touch anything." He tried to bring his own hand to his mouth and whined when it didn't connect. "I'm going to starve."

"You are not going to starve, buddy." John stared into Rodney's eyes, no longer prey or an Ancestor, but something between a father and a bother. "I'm going to show Dr. Brown what I found on this console and leave her my maps. Then I'll go with you to Carson, and between the two of you, this will all work out."

Ronon realized John sounded like Carson in that moment. Not a bad choice, but the constant switching made it hard to know what sort of threat John might truly be. It was easy enough to reach Carson before them to keep watch. Ronon had spent years securing the city and was confident he could maintain surveillance without being caught. He regretted that someone else would take his food and firewood now.

#

"Rodney, calm down. I'm sure it will fall off before it kills you." Carson didn't mean to be short with his friend. He was having a second really bad day. "While you're both here, there's something I should talk to you about."

Carson almost invited them to his office for tea, before he remembered Rodney's latest upset. Meanwhile, John hopped up on a bed across from where Rodney sat. It meant someone would have to change the covers before a patient used that bed, and Carson was left standing between the beds like a doctor talking to patients. Perhaps that was for the best with these two geniuses who acted so much like children, and they really were young, 20 and 22 respectively. That was hard to remember with all they could do.

"Listen, we've heard back from Earth, and while I tried to screen especially my medical personnel carefully, it looks like several of those in quarantine had records altered by the NID."

"I'm still not sure what the NID does," John said, slouching back as if he didn't really care. "Were they involved with the general who wanted to see me?"

"No, General Ross represents only one project aimed at weaponizing humans. The NID are meant to provide civilian oversight for multiple top secret military programs, especially those involving extraterrestrials and powered individuals. But they often have outside interests that lead to either rogue actions or the right hand not knowing what the left hand is doing." Carson pulled a candy from his pocket and tried to hand it to Rodney, hoping a moment of distraction might let him lower his shield. Rodney scowled at him. Carson put the candy away. "It's not surprising that they'd try to plant a mole in the Atlantis Expedition, but they seem to have set up two of my medical staff and several of the military. We still don't know much about the woman on Weir's staff, but she has some connection to General Ross' daughter. Given that we're not sure who sent the medic to take John's blood in Antarctica, Ford's concerned one or more agencies had designs on John and there may be multiple players vying for control of the Atlantis expedition. At the same time, Sumner has Ford worried about John taking over if the city favors him as the closest to a true Ancient."

John blanched but recovered quickly. "You think there's something to Ford's idea that the Gate can read minds for intentions?"

"Whether it's the Gate system in Pegasus or specific to Atlantis, something is going on. Why was Ronon the only person other than us allowed in?" Carson wondered how Ronon was doing as he opened the compartment where the tracker was stored. "A cloaked city lets in one man, someone being hunted by the Wraith via this tracking device that evidently doesn't work here. For all I know, the city let him in so he could start the greenhouse running. Then it let me in, perhaps so I could remove the tracker. Whether it's automatic or preset by the Ancients, I think the goals of Atlantis need to be considered as much as those of the NID or others. And John has to be careful."

"Seems like I ended up where I'm meant to be," John shrugged. "Maybe Ronon did, too. You said he mentioned charging items in the infirmary? It looks like he charged a supply drone and some greenhouse tools. The city power supply only took over out there after Rodney installed MAP."

"But Ronon doesn't have the ATA gene." Carson brought up the records on his Ancient device. "It would have shown up when I scanned him."

"So maybe there's something else genetic. Or maybe anyone could charge those things if they knew how. Maybe whatever he does charged the tracker the Wraith put in him, too." John gestured at the tracker Rodney was now examining. "I'm just saying that if we're looking into Atlantis' selection process, there might be more to Ronon than running from the Wraith."

#

Ronon wasn't sure what ATA meant, but he guessed it was why so much of Atlantis lit up for John, something to do with the Ancestors. But Rodney said he'd had the "ATA shot" so maybe these people had stolen their gifts from the Ancestors. Maybe John was an early attempt that went wrong.

Ronon wasn't sure why the NID would want John's blood. If they wanted Atlantis and she had sent their people away, then the NID was clearly an enemy of Atlantis. That would make the NID Ronon's enemy. It didn't prove that John or others on Atlantis weren't dangerous as well. But Carson's apparent trust in John made Ronon less inclined to shoot the partially blue man.

The one called Rodney was a different story. He was inobservant, careless, and Ronon wasn't at all sure he wanted him studying the tracking device. For the time being, Ronon would wait and see.

#

"Switch the screen to ohms. Seriously, haven't you ever used a multimeter before?" Rodney waved his hand, still encased in the Ancient shield, still preventing him from using the multimeter himself.

"That part of the elementary school curriculum in Canada?" John stretched out the sentence as he adjusted the probes to test the conductivity of the tracking device. "Or you think it should have been part of my math degree?"

"You read the emissions spectrum and started analysis like you knew what you were doing." Rodney had been more than a little impressed by that, but he wouldn't let on as he paced around Zelenka and Kusanagi's workstations.

"I used an Ancient scanner and console. All I had to do was think at them."

"Sure, it all comes easy to you, while this stupid shield tries to starve me to death."

In an instant, the lab was pitch black. Every indicator light on every electronic device went out at once. "What did you do!"

"I may not be an engineer, but I don't think a multimeter can take out this whole lab."

Zelenka added without prompting, "Is not likely my work or Kusanagi's either. Stay still and I will try—"

The lights came on at the same time as Ford's voice came over the radio shouting, "McKay, what's happening?"

"Power just came back here. How widespread was the outage?"

"The Gate Room was out and came back a minute ago, but you weren't answering. A patrol three floors below you reported a blackout before that."

"Ask them what they touched." Rodney huffed as he packed up a tool kit. "I'll head down to meet them."

"I'll see you there. Ford out."

A few minutes later, Rodney brilliantly deduced that an alien entity had been released from containment by a careless Marine.

Ford smiled meanly as he said, "With your shield, you're the perfect one to trap it back in the box."

The shield fell from Rodney's chest without a conscious thought.

Ford blinked at him and said, "Guess that's one way to get out of it. You sure that shield thing won't work for anyone else?"

"No, but at least you'll have my genius brain around a bit longer to protect you from your own stupidity." When neither Ford nor the other soldiers nearby showed any appreciation, Rodney said, "I'll get back to my lab and work on luring the entity into this trap."

#

Non-medical Ancient systems never worked well for Carson. He would have asked another gene carrier for help, but this was part of the research he kept so confidential that he'd locked it down with a biological lock the way Kusanagi had shown him. To add insult to injury, the search really should count as medical. He needed to figure out how Ronon could charge certain Ancient devices, and he was almost certain it was connected to non-ATA genetics. But without a second test subject, there was no way for Carson to study the genetics directly.

Then a shelf folded out of the wall beside the nearest bed, causing Carson to startle up from his chair. A quick scan of the contents showed a waterproof cover for the bed, hydrotherapy nozzle hoses, and the sort of vacuum hoses and foam dressings Carson would need for a vacuum assisted closure. He'd just started to wonder what Atlantis was trying to tell him when the call came in.

"Infirmary, Sergeant Markham was attacked by the energy creature outside the armory. He is unconscious but breathing and has extensive burns."

"On our way," Carson responded, wondering if Atlantis had responded before the call because Markham was a natural ATA carrier. It made him uncomfortable that the city would help him with this while leaving him to flounder in his genetics research, but he didn't have time to worry as he rushed out to help Markham.

#

When Rodney stomped into the lab chomping on a power bar, John let out a sigh of relief. To cover he said, "Guess you won't starve to death before the energy creature kills us all."

"Stupid Ancient tech," Rodney muttered. "Moronic, short-sighted Ancients who left energy eating aliens in containers any child could open."

While Rodney tracked the energy creature's progress and shifted power to lure it toward the trap, John finished the readings they were taking from Ronon's former tracking device.

Then McKay shouted, "Fumble fingered Marines let a blob of energy outwit them." Then he called into his radio, "Ford, bring the trap to the Gate Room, I have an idea."

As Rodney stormed out, John figured he'd return the tracking device to the infirmary and then see if he could help in the Gate Room.

The halls must have strange acoustics because John was sure he wasn't supposed to hear the Marine left behind in the lab hallway report, "Target two leaving McKay's lab." He and McKay were the only ones who left, and even a Marine would probably say 'his lab' rather than 'McKay's lab' if talking about McKay. John concluded he was target two and he made a point to listen when the guard near the medical area reported, "Target two entering infirmary."

The infirmary was empty. A new shelf with strange tubes and nozzles had appeared where John didn't remember seeing a shelf before, but John paid that no mind as he returned the tracking device to the secured storage Atlantis had provided before. Then he pushed against wall panels, working his way deeper into the infirmary, until one swiveled and let him into a vent. He doubted anyone would notice if "target two" didn't leave the infirmary for a while. If "target one" was Ronon as John suspected, then it seemed only fitting that "target two" should also learn to navigate the back passages and vent systems of Atlantis.

Closing the vent cover behind him, John tried to move quietly and listen for outside sounds to add to his mental map. His dead reckoning was good, and they weren't far from the Gate Room, but John wanted to learn as much as he could along the way. That's what led to him peeking out into a huge room with boxy vehicles parked in a row. Looking up, there was another row of identical vehicles parked on something like diving boards with lights on the edges. It only made sense that a flying city would need smaller flying ships, something small enough to pass through the Stargate or the hexagonal access up above.

John crept from his secret entrance checking to see there was no guard posted in this room, just one closed person-sized door where a spaceship might otherwise have parked. Circling the nearest ship, roughly the shape of penne pasta and about as plain looking, he saw where something like retractable jets would deploy, a slanted front windshield that would make more sense for a car traveling on flat ground, and a door in the back. The door opened with a touch, and when John walked in the whole ship wanted to light up for him. He thought "dim" and "silent" at it, but it still felt like the ship could jump for joy to have him aboard. He thought back to little planes called Puddle Jumpers on a long ago family vacation to Hawaii and how these little spaceships would fit through the "puddle" inside a Stargate as he patted the side of the ship and thought "Puddle Jumper." Two compartments immediately opened, as if eager to show off supplies such as a rope, a folding shovel, and something that looked like a metal dildo. John thought the compartments closed.

When he sat down in the pilot seat a pre-flight checklist list appeared in front of him. Mentally asking for a map gave him an aerial view of the city, lots of ocean and a patch of coastline. Wondering if there was a way to carry the map off the ship, caused another compartment to open with a hand-sized device. When John picked it up a hex map appeared on the dark screen, and John could see a smaller version of the coastline he'd been studying. The moment John worried about someone finding him in the ship, Ancient symbols lit up to say something had turned "on." John could only guess that the unknown term was something to hide the ship, like a cloaking device. That caused him to climb out of his seat and walk far enough out the back entrance to appreciate that his Puddle Jumper was now invisible.

John wanted to jump and shout about how cool his spaceship was.

Instead, he quietly went back inside to the pilot's seat. Thinking that he'd like to see the flight controls gave John a range of gauges, astral maps, and sensor readings. As his eyes looked at each, various buttons and sticks on the console lit up. Choosing a spot on any map seemed to set some sort of autopilot, and John strongly suspected he could pilot the ship with just his mind. He thought about needing a shield to protect the ship from space debris, and a control appeared to adjust shield strength. He checked that the cloak symbol was still on and thought he really needed to tell Rodney about this.

All he wanted to do was fly away in his Puddle Jumper. He'd be willing to take his chances without supplies and knowing very little about the Wraith or other threats just to get away from all the people who thought of him as a freak, Bug Boy, or target two. But there were also people who thought of him as John or at least McKay's assistant. He was part of an expedition that was already short staffed and fighting an energy creature they didn't understand. Silently, he turned off all the displayed images, the shield, the cloak, and all the lit-up controls. He powered down everything except the little handheld map device.

As an experiment, he mentally asked for a map to the Gate Room. It showed him a square in the vent he'd come out of and a dozen spots of light, some of them moving.

John closed up the Jumper, crept back into his vent, and let the device lead him to the specified square. It turned out to be a ceiling panel which he nudged ajar to look down into the Gate Room. That's when he realized that each bright dot was a person. His new device did more than provide maps, it could detect life signs through floors or walls and track people's movements without being seen. John slipped the life signs detector into his pocket and wondered how long it would last before needing to be recharged.

#

Ronon had planned to steal his tracking device back.

He didn't think anyone needed to understand it. Certainly not John or Rodney. Watching them in the lab, he wasn't sure what they were trying to do with it. But he didn't trust them.

Then the lights went out.

When Ronon heard there were other power problems he went by the infirmary first. No one else was using the service hallways or large vents yet, so Ronon had no problem hiding.

Carson was working calmly beside a smaller woman with curly brown hair. They had only one patient, and he heard Carson say, "The city seems to have provided a burn unit by opening a shelf."

They didn't seem to need his help.

Ronon made his way to a vantage point above what they called the Gate Room. An older woman with dark, reddish hair and red panels in her jacket was directing people to set up yellow light boxes in case they lost power again. She paused every time a military report broadcast from a black box set beside one of the lights. Ronon recognized military check ins and reports.

Then the woman would stand behind each person working at an Ancient console and they would report things Ronon barely understood. Lots of names and science.

Ford reported that they failed to trap whatever was causing the black outs.

Rodney yelled a lot over a radio device but came up with a plan involving a MALP and the Gate. It turned out a MALP was a wheeled robot, like the one that had come through the Gate before all these people.

Ford showed up with a yellow and black tube to put on top of the MALP.

Rodney showed up to shout at everyone.

A huge black cloud with sparks in it filled the Gate Room. The Gate was open, but the MALP didn't work according to plan.

Instead of shouting, McKay slapped the glowing green shield device back onto his chest. He walked down into the cloud.

Then the black cloud passed through the Gate. Rodney was flat on his back on the floor. The older woman ran to his side as Ford called for a medical team.

#

Carson had just finished washing up from his work on Markham when the call came over the radio, "Medical team to the Gate Room. Dr. McKay is unconscious on the floor. He was inside the energy being with his personal shield but does not appear burned."

Atlantis didn't open another shelf of supplies, so Carson left with a generically stocked emergency gurney and radioed for Marie, the on-call nurse to meet him in the Gate Room.

He arrived just in time to see Dr. Weir and one of her staff, Dr. Grodin, helping a blinking Rodney to sit up. "Easy there," Carson said, "in cases of possible head or neck injury, it's best to stay lying down until medical help arrives."

"Hi Carson," Rodney said. He looked very pleased with the small crowd gathered around him.

"He must have fainted," Ford said with a smirk.

Grodin moved aside and Carson watched Rodney's eyes as he scowled at Ford and then gently moved a hand to check his skull. "I hear you were unconscious, lad."

"I did it. I sent the energy creature through the Gate. I burned out my shield, though." Rodney fingered the darkened green crystal slowly.

"I'm sure you'll find a way to make a better one, more user friendly," Carson said.

Rodney smiled at him, looking a little dazed, but his eyes were tracking, and there weren't any obvious lumps on his head.

"Good job," Weir said patting Rodney's shoulder as he stretched a bit. More than ever, Carson felt like he and Weir were playing mom and dad to an expedition made up of children. Young or not, Carson was proud to be working with them and prouder than he'd care to admit of Rodney for saving the day.

#

When it was time to sleep, John couldn't make himself lie down. He wanted to sleep beside Rodney, or at least to pat him down and see that he really was fine. That probably wasn't something normal humans wanted, but it threatened to tear John apart.

The dark behind his closed eyelids became the dark cloud he'd watched Rodney walk into. Watched from a ceiling panel where he could do nothing to help. Behind his closed eyes, there were random specks of light, too much like the alien entity.

John picked up his guitar. It was the one personal item he'd brought to Atlantis, the first thing he'd replaced after the first time he received a paycheck in Antarctica. Now he headed out the door, determined to find the highest outdoor balcony or roof he could access.

"Where are you going, sir?" a Marine at the end of the hall asked him.

John lifted his guitar a little. "Outside. I didn't want to wake anyone."

"The walls seem pretty soundproof." The Marine wouldn't meet John's eyes. "If you go someplace I'll have to follow you and call someone else to watch civilian quarters."

John wanted to ask if he was being guarded in particular as target two or if anyone going out at night would evoke the same response. He didn't ask.

"Sorry to bother you," John said as he headed back to his room.

John looked at the vent above his shower and considered taking his guitar through that way, but then he wouldn't be able to enjoy playing anywhere he might risk being overheard.

He wondered if the vents would let him check on Rodney next door. A seam started to form in the wall between their rooms instead.

_No, no, no,_ John thought as aggressively as he could. The seam disappeared. John knew he had checked for panel openings in all the walls and wondered if this was something that had been locked before, like an optional adjoining door, or if Atlantis could somehow create new doors for him. John tried to think his thanks and appreciation for the offer, just in case that mattered to the city or whatever responded to his ATA gene.

He forced himself to sit down on the bed, but he didn't want to play guitar inside, no matter how soundproof the walls might be. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his knees trying to get warm.

When a rush of warm air instantly came through the vent, John thought his appreciation again. He let the room grow warmer and warmer and felt his shoulders relax. Pretty soon, he knew it was way too warm for standard indoor temperatures, but no one else was there to complain. John lay on his back and basked like the lizard or bug or whatever he was.

#

Ronon checked the infirmary as a new shift of people started moving around the next morning. No instruments needed charging. Carson walked in looking freshly washed and as if he'd slept at least a little.

On his way to the greenhouse, Ronon studied the duty stations and patrol patterns. He saw the boat that brought his wood and fish was back in launch position. He could find no sign of his fish and didn't need the wood stacked nearby without fish. A small light on the dock above the boat indicated it was fully charged. Ronon could only guess that the power supply McKay had brought could charge the boat as well as powering lights and the Ring/Gate.

Inside the greenhouse, the section of wall where John had hung the tools displayed a small, steady light. Ronon supposed that meant the tools could also be powered some other way now that the city was restored.

Atlantis had let them in. It had excluded others. Maybe Ronon wasn't needed anymore and should go. He could hitch a ride to the mainland on his supply boat, but without the occupier's cooperation, he couldn't leave through the Gate.

Ronon decided to stay and observe longer. He didn't trust these people. They didn't trust each other. Atlantis might still need his help.

Dr. Brown, who wasn't a healer but some other kind of doctor that was more like a farmer, worked near the greenhouse console scanning groundnuts. They were the most filling food in the greenhouse, and Ronon had planned to subsist on them for a few days. But he didn't want what he took to be noticed.

He checked his greens and the berries that weren't yet ripe. His other crops had all been farmed in order to renew the seed supply for Atlantis. Some of the grains he couldn't even process into food on his own. However, refreshing the seed stock on Sateda had been a matter of some ceremony and celebration. Children took special lessons about heritage plants only in the years when their seeds were up for renewal. Music stories followed the seed cycle as plants were associated with certain battles or innovations. Ronon would stay long enough to see that the newcomers understood the requirements of the seedbank. Today they were planting a quick growing vine fruit that Ronon had also chosen as food early on. It made sense for feeding their population, even if the seeds did not need refreshing yet.

Not having access to his groundnuts, Ronon went to observe the Earth people eating. They had stored their food in the logical rooms beside a large dining hall. Two men in different uniforms were opening boxes with shiny brown bags inside. Some of the bags were heated in a pot of boiling water. Others were set out in groups on a table. Each person filing through was given one heated bag and could take one of each of the others. What came out looked more like what Satedans fed young children than anything Ronon had eaten in years. But food was food.

Ronon climbed into the storeroom and took several of each kind of packet. He hid them in two different stashes and then went to collect some wood to heat his own water.

The meal was surprisingly tasty when Ronon finally sat down to eat. The fruit and vegetable bags were a lot like mushed up children's food. The warm bag was salty like seafood but made with tender white chunks of meat and little white grains. It was exotic.

#

Rodney woke late from happy dreams about finding a way to recharge the ZPMs, creating better personal shields, and combining the city cloak with a permanent shield. When he reached the mess hall there was no line, but he still received a shrink-wrapped chocolate chip muffin as well as coffee, so he barely had to taste his reconstituted eggs.

By the time he stepped into what everyone already referred to as McKay's lab, he found John hard at work with schematics that Rodney had never seen before.

"What's that?" He leaned over John's shoulder, refilled coffee cup in hand.

"I'm calling them Puddle Jumpers. They can cloak and shield at the same time, which I knew would interest you,"—John glanced over his shoulder and Rodney wondered if his bounce of excitement had been audible somehow or if he'd bumped John's shoulder without noticing—"and I'm pretty sure I can fly them with just my mind. I figure flying the city is part of my job description, so even if we don't have the power for that yet, I should probably get some practice flying one of these. And maybe you could study how the shield and cloak work together to see if the city can handle something similar."

"Let's go!"

Rodney was almost out the door when the tower shook and a sound like a thunder clap had him ducking under a table.

John rushed by saying, "Shit, not again."

#

When Carson heard the explosion, he called in his entire staff without waiting for details. By the time someone radioed for medical teams to the mess hall, he had two teams ready to go and a medic setting up for emergency medical protocols in the infirmary.

When he reached the mess hall, the Marines by the door let his teams pass as Zelenka called out that the structure was sound but to stay back from the windows. John was already there guiding someone with bloody hands away from the glass.

Peter Grodin stood in the middle of the room, one hand holding his opposite shoulder in what was clearly a protective posture. When Carson stepped toward him, Grodin said, "Center of the blast was the table in the corner farthest from the food line. At least one scientist is dead and one immobilized. Dr. Weir and I are organizing escorts to take the walking wounded to the infirmary."

"That better include you, son." Grodin nodded even as he answered a call from Weir on his radio.

A quick triage scan suggested Grodin's summary was correct. In the corner indicated Carson found the psychologist, Kate Heightmeyer, with shrapnel wounds across her head and torso. He assigned her to Biro's team first as she was in danger of bleeding out. A chunk of the table in front of her was missing and part of a person splattered out in all directions. There wasn't enough left to say who had been at ground zero, but Carson concentrated on those he could save.

The next worst off was James Watson, one of the scientists Carson knew least well. His right side was torn up and covered in gore enough to show he'd been sitting next to whoever died. His pale skin and rapid breathing suggested he was also at risk for shock or a panic attack. "Easy, James, I need you to show me if you can move the fingers on your right hand." There was a pause of a few seconds before the man met Carson's eyes and then wiggled his fingers. Carson used the time to lock the gurney in position as close to the ruined table as he could. "Very good, son. Can you move your right foot?"

Watson's right leg was still under the table, but Carson had a clear line of sight on it. He couldn't see any movement. Watson came to the same conclusion at about the same time and started to hyperventilate. Carson motioned the nurse and medic with him to immobilize the leg as he rounded the table from the other side to take Watson by the shoulders and force eye contact. "Dr. Watson, I need you to breathe with me. We can take care of your leg, but you need to help me by breathing in…and out…"

#

Ronon was watching the Gate Room as Grodin reported Carson and Biro's arrival in the mess hall. He didn't recognize most of the names of the injured, but he counted nine of them, and one dead.

Ford came in with an Earth electronic device. He stopped in front of Weir and said, "Our bomb techs are all at the quarantine site, but their equipment came here. Do you have any scientists qualified to use it to inspect the scene and check for further threats, ma'am?"

"What do you expect to find?" Weir asked.

"McKay said the first day he couldn't scan for hidden explosives until he knew what to look for. Now we'll know what to look for."

"You think Ronon did this?" Ronon couldn't tell what Weir thought from her tone of voice.

"Who else had motive?"

Before Ronon could even process that the military commander, temporary as he might be, couldn't think of any other threats besides Ronon, Rodney came in shouting, "Self-involved, idiotic Ancients!"

John followed quietly behind him.

"They weaponized humans by planting exploding tumors behind their lungs. Hewston and Watson triggered an Ancient device they thought might be a back-up power generator. When it emitted an unknown form of radiation, they turned it off and logged it in their lab records. Then they went to sleep! Who goes to sleep before visiting the infirmary after something like that? Oh, I know, the same idiots who turn on unknown Ancient devices the day after we almost lose Atlantis to an energy creature released from an unknown Ancient device." Rodney had been shouting and flapping his arms at the ceiling, the floor, and the room in general. Now he zeroed in on Weir saying, "We need to locate Watson right away and get him out of here. He's not answering his radio."

Weir tapped her radio and asked, "Grodin, do you know the location of Dr. Watson?"

The immediate reply was, "Dr. Beckett is operating on his leg. He was seated next to the explosion."

Rodney shouted into his Radio, "Tell him to get Watson out of there immediately. He has an exploding tumor behind his lung just like Hewston did, and it could go off at any moment."

There was a pause and then Grodin reported, "Dr. Beckett is ordering everyone out of the infirmary."

"That's a start," Weir said.

"He's refusing to leave himself, and the nurse assisting says he can't finish without her." Grodin's words came faster. "The doors are sealed."

"Sergeant Markham," Ford ordered, "Open the infirmary doors and escort any remaining medical staff away. I'm sending a bomb disposal unit now." Another tap to his radio and he ordered, "Private Alvarez, take the bomb disposal unit to the infirmary, now."

"This is Markham, the infirmary doors will not respond to gene carriers or non-destructive force. Should we try a crow bar or C-4, sir?"

"No explosives or weapons fire. Try a crowbar." Ford turned to one of technicians, "Chuck, can you patch us into speakers in the infirmary."

Chuck looked to Weir and proceeded at her nod.

Ford said, "Dr. Beckett, the man you are operating on is a bomb. You need to let us remove him for your safety and others."

"If I give up on him now, that's murder." Ronon was not surprised by Carson's reply. He considered using the access corridors to sneak into the infirmary and take Carson away by force. But he knew better than to do that to a healer.

"This is Private Alvarez, sir. The corridor in front of the infirmary is sealed at both ends. What should I do with the bomb disposal unit, sir?"

"If that tumor's been growing ever since the one in mess hall went off, it might be enough to take out the hallway." Rodney started to pace. He stopped suddenly and around in a circle. "Where's John?"

Ford and Weir looked at each other before looking at McKay.

Rodney said, "He has the strongest gene in the city."

Ford said into his radio, "Markham, clear the level on that side of the tower. Alvarez, fall back to the corridor connecting the Gate Room to the infirmary. If you meet Serano, follow him in and assist with the bomb disposal unit if necessary."

"Yes, sir," was the response from both.

Ronon made his way toward the infirmary through vents that could see into both hallways and access tunnels.

#

John found the tall black bomb disposal unit unattended beside a set of sealed doors. He climbed out of the access tunnel and used the full force of his ATA gene to try to open the doors at the end of the infirmary hallway. It didn't work.

He studied the almost person-sized hexagonal prism meant to contain explosives. None of the warning labels said it had to remain upright. The wheeled dolly it was on would fit in the access tunnels with the container horizontal, and it was a short straight shot into the infirmary through the access hatch he'd used to evade surveillance the day before.

It turned out the container was heavier than it looked. Maneuvering the wheeled dolly into a less than four by four foot tunnel was an exercise in applied acrobatics as well.

The straight shot to the infirmary took only moments. If the awkward load seemed to be guided and lifted from behind when John maneuvered it out again, he didn't need to ask who else might know these vents. He'd take any help he could get.

Carson was still operating. John pulled the container up behind him and said, "Please, tell me the moment we can put that bomb away."

"Pull on gloves," was all Carson said.

When Carson handed John the bloody mass, it was almost anticlimactic to push it carefully inside the reinforced disposal container. Then John pulled off his gloves, checked all the latches, and decided the main corridors would be fastest for getting the bomb away from people—just in case the disposal unit wasn't strong enough to contain the explosion.

Carson opened the infirmary doors without being asked.

The doors at the end of the hall opened as well. A very startled Marine said into his radio, "John Serano is exiting the infirmary with the sealed explosives containment unit, sir."

John was glad not to be referred to as target two. The hall was quiet enough for him to hear Ford respond, "Escort him as far out on the docks as you can get."

As the Marine, Markham if John remembered correctly, fell into step beside him John pointed out, "You might as well escort me from farther away. No sense losing an extra life if this ends badly."

"You could let me take it. Part of my job is to protect civilians."

John had never thought of himself as a civilian before. He'd certainly never imagined himself as military, but civilian seemed like a subset of normal—of human—in a way that being a mathematician or lab assistant didn't. He considered handing over the dolly handle. There really was no sense in having two people so close to an unexploded bomb.

Then it exploded. There was noise and vibration. The handle shook John's hand and arm.

But the container held.

They weren't even outside yet. "That was it, wasn't it?" John hadn't meant for his voice to sound so small, but the Marine only smiled.

"I think so, but it wouldn't hurt to walk it the rest of the way out." Markham kept smiling as he radioed in.

John felt glad to be alive and wondered if he'd ever felt that before. He should have felt that way after his first fire, but his mom was dead and he was rejected and possibly responsible. After the small explosions and fire at Serano's, John didn't know what to feel or do. He'd needed to disappear. He didn't remember feeling happy to be alive. Now there was at least one person dead out of only 53 left with the expedition. All John had done to help was move a special box to contain the bomb.

But it had been less than two minutes since he left the surgery. With Carson's lockdown, it seemed likely that doctor, nurse, and patient would have died when the tumor exploded, not to mention damage to the infirmary and surroundings. John thought he should be proud of himself, but he didn't feel it. He was glad to be alive. He was glad Carson and the others were alive. However dangerous Atlantis might be, there were things he wanted to do here. There was no place else he wanted to be.

#

Ronon watched from hiding as John took the bomb away from Carson. The whole situation should have been handled better. The Earthlings had found more trouble in three days in the City of the Ancients than he'd found in three years. Their military commander was naïve even for his apparent age. Ronon didn't really understand their command structure and was trying to reserve judgment. He wasn't sure what Weir's role was, some kind of diplomat. He didn't expect to understand diplomats.

After Carson closed his surgery site and cleaned his tools, Ronon could see the healer's hands start to shake. He had seen that before with healers. Their anxiety hit after their work was done.

Ronon wanted to bring the man tea. He'd observed that Carson offered it to others to calm them. He wasn't sure if it was medicinal, but Ronon knew many warm beverages could be soothing.

Whoever gave news of the second explosion over the radio did it poorly. Carson folded forward, supporting himself with arms braced on a cabinet as he asked, "Was anyone hurt?"

A moment later, Carson took a deep breath and said, "Good to hear." So Ronon guessed the strange black box had worked. He wished he could take Carson in his arms and hold him, but that wasn't his right.

#

When Rodney returned to his lab, John was there looking at his Puddle Jumper schematics again. It was surreal, as if the morning had never happened, as if Hewston hadn't died, as if Carson and John hadn't scared Rodney half to death.

Rodney brought up the list of possible power supplies, the list that had led to the exploding tumor machine. It included solar panels, superconducting materials in some hallways, lightning rods, and the mobile drilling platform where the previous expedition had encountered a Wraith Queen. None of those on their own could provide as much power as his MAP device. Adding the full array of solar panels to his MAP device couldn't provide as much instantaneous power as the three original ZPMs if they were charged. They needed alternatives.

"We need to get you in the control chair here and see if you can sort out warnings for what we should avoid. Who knows, you might find a list of where the Ancients stored ZedPMs." Rodney turned to John, who seemed honestly happy for once.

"It might tell us why Jumpers have cloak and shield together but the city doesn't seem to." John was practically petting his Jumper diagrams as he said it. "With the data from Ronon's tracker, we might be able to find other Runners and a Wraith for Carson to study. But I don't think Ford's going to let me near that chair anytime soon."

"Isn't there some American saying like 'better to ask forgiveness than permission'? Besides, I'm your boss and the Head of Physical Sciences. You and I can decide if you need to sit in the chair." Rodney stood up, ready to go.

"They have guards on the door." John stated it like an incontrovertible fact of life.

Rodney's shoulders slumped. He didn't think he could get his way on this by yelling. Then he remembered something else he'd been meaning to ask John about. "How did you get inside the infirmary while the hall in front of it was still locked down?"

#

The guards burst in on them before John could even ask the chair interface about safe alternative power options. His inquiries about ZPMs had led to sketchy Gate addresses at best, and now he was being forced out of the chair at gunpoint.

He could have tried to channel Serano or O'Neill and talk his way out, but John was tired of playing parts to survive. Something else mattered more now. "Don't lie to protect me. They'll just lock us both up, and they really need you."

Rodney looked baffled for a moment. Then his intellect caught up and he looked upset.

Before argument could undermine his efforts, John asked the Marines, "So now you've stopped me, what are you going to do with me?"

What they did was lock him in a cage. It didn't have his giant wheel, a trapeze or hoops. It didn't even have blankets on the hard bed. John was cold, but he didn't think the temperature higher because he didn't want to show what he could do or where his vulnerabilities might lie. Instead he sat leaning against the wall and humming Johnny Cash tunes.

#

Carson found Ford and Weir in the Gate Room. One of the scientists, Kusanagi, had a video feed from the cell showing on an Earth laptop that was hooked up to an Ancient console and a flash drive.

"Dr. Beckett, what brings you here?" Weir asked without even glancing toward the video feed.

"As Head of Science, I believe I'm supposed to be consulted in matters concerning science personnel."

Ford shifted to a formal pose resembling parade rest. "John Serano willfully evaded military surveillance to break into the control chair room."

Carson's next argument was preempted by new questions. "Why was he under surveillance and why wasn't I consulted about that?"

"It was a strictly military consideration." Ford looked as young as John when he stared over Carson's shoulder, and the doctor felt older than ever. "With those less favored by Serano trapped on an alien planet, including much of our military command structure, it made tactical sense to watch for further developments."

"Was John informed?"

Fords eyes flicked to Weir. "He was in the room when Col. Sumner said to keep him under observation."

"Back before Stargate Command found evidence the NIA had adjusted the background checks for several of those quarantined with Sumner?"

"Yes, but the orders were never changed."

"Which orders?"

"The orders to keep him under observation." Ford looked at Carson as if his question made no sense.

"You want to punish John for evading surveillance when he was never actually notified of anything and may not have heard whatever Sumner said, which honestly, I wouldn't have expected to still apply?"

"It's clear he figured it out. He keeps disappearing, and the door to the control chair was guarded, so he and McKay didn't enter that way."

"Is Rodney under surveillance or imprisoned as well?"

"He's not considered a threat. At least not at present."

Carson turned to Elizabeth, hoping for a more insightful discussion. "Dr. Weir, I wish to state on record that not informing or consulting me about matters involving the science staff violates the expedition charter. As far as I know, John Serano did nothing wrong, and I will consider filing a formal complaint if the issue persists."

"Carson," She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, "this isn't a science matter. As the civilian leader I was fully informed and agreed to the course of action."

"Elizabeth," Carson met her eyes and tried his best to remain diplomatic, "I respectfully disagree. I doubt you could agree to imprison someone for evading surveillance or ignoring rules they were never told about. That means John Serano, our strongest natural ATA carrier and the member of my science staff best prepared to access the control chair, is currently imprisoned for using the control chair. That is one of his assigned duties and definitely a science matter. It had better be made clear in whatever charges are being written up that he was doing his job, apparently with the Head of Physical Sciences and Engineering present and assisting." In his mind Carson added that he'd be next in line to use the chair, and that wasn't something he'd wish on any of them. "I'll write up my understanding of events, and I expect it to be included in our next transmission to Earth."

At that moment, Rodney stormed in with a pile of blankets and a guitar. "Who do I complain to about unjust imprisonment and violations of human rights! Those monosyllabic cretins playing jailor won't allow me to bring John blankets or his guitar."

"He brought a guitar to Atlantis?" Ford asked with raised eyebrows.

"It was his personal item," Rodney growled, "and some of us respect musical and intellectual pursuits. You've imprisoned him without anything to do or even read for hours, and he's been humming and singing to keep himself entertained while he huddles for warmth. Never mind that you have no right to lock him in a cage again anyway. Have you already forgotten how he freed you and all the rest of us from those nets?"

"I'm following orders," Ford said tightly. "He'll be provided with food and bedding at a reasonable hour."

Carson had moved over to the video feed Kusanagi was monitoring. He could see how John's legs were pulled up in front of him, although he wasn't sure if the man was cold or just comfortable that way. His lips were moving in song, and Carson asked Kusanagi if she could bring the volume up a bit.

You ought to thank me before I die

For the gravel in your gut and the spit in your eye

Cause I'm the son of a bitch that named you Sue…

"And the guitar?" Rodney persisted.

"If he's going to sing Johnny Cash, the accompaniment would help," Chuck put in from a console near the front of the balcony.

The corner of Ford's lip twitched in a smile, but he said, "It's against regulations, too easy to use as a weapon."

The sound coming in from John's cell suddenly shifted to include guitar. John's voice faltered on the words, "Come away with a different point of view." Then he started to smile as he finished the song.

The Gate Room was suddenly silent except for the singing and guitar.

"What the—" Ford swallowed the last word as he hit his radio, "Bates, what's going on in that cell."

"There appears to be a sound system, sir."

"Did you see how it was activated?"

"No sir."

"I'm on my way." Ford stomped toward the door and the others followed him.

#

Ronon had no trouble accessing the vent above the guard area for the cells before the argumentative authority figures arrived. He still distrusted John for his resemblance to the Wraith, but he was amused that only John had discovered the network of access tunnels. He was more than glad that John had used them to protect Carson.

Carson and Ford arrived first. Ford had a gun drawn as he surveyed the scene and questioned the guards.

Rodney entered waving the guitar and saying, "I was trying to get you your guitar, you know."

Weir stepped right up to the bars at the front of the cell despite a stern gesture from Ford. "How are you doing, John?"

The music, another song with guitar that John had been singing along to went silent. "I'd like to be informed of my rights or really anything that affects me." He rolled his eyes at Rodney's waving arms full of blankets and guitar. "My guitar and some blankets would be nice, too."

Kusanagi crept in behind the others with her hands full of Earth and Ancient devices. She settled into a corner with a silence totally unlike the rest of the Earthlings.

"How do you turn the music on and off?" Ford asked.

"Really, that's what brought you all down here?" John leaned against a back wall that didn't carry a punishing charge like the others. "I have no idea what started it. I may have thought it off when I needed to answer questions."

"What do you mean by 'may have'?"

Rodney pointed the guitar at Ford and nearly hit both him and Weir. The threat didn't look entirely accidental. Ronon remembered the scientist walking into the dark alien cloud when no one expected it. He might be a stronger opponent than the others seemed to realize. "You did understand when we came to Atlantis that ATA genetics and artificial gene therapy meant some people can control Ancient devices with a thought? Even with the artificial version, I can control the personal shield and the showers. The city lit up the moment John stepped through the Gate. He could probably let himself out of that cell if he thought about it hard enough."

That had the guards looking alert and Ford pointing his weapon at John.

"Hey," John held his hands up at shoulder level. "No need to shoot the mathematician. I'm just hanging out in this cage singing for everyone's amusement."

Even Ronon, who barely understood why any of these people said what they did, could tell John's words carried as much anger as appeasement.

Dr. Weir sounded much more appeasing when she said, "I really don't think we need guns for this conversation."

"And how did something in an Ancient city know the guitar part to an Earth song. Can it read your mind?"

John said through a tight smile. "I have no idea. If you let me return to work I could research that."

Carson added, "We can't start locking people up for accidentally using the ATA gene. For all we know, I may have triggered the guitar music. I was present for that discussion and John was not. It's not your job to punish my science staff or anyone else for their genetics or for pursuing their work without asking your permission. If anything, we should talk to the whole expedition about being careful where they go, what they touch, or when they think to turn something on."

Rodney opened his mouth, but Carson silenced him with look.

"That sounds like a very reasonable suggestion," Weir agreed.

"Fine." Ford nodded. "But until I receive orders otherwise, John Serano is under arrest."

"Lieutenant Ford," Weir said while looking him in the eyes, "Your orders were to keep him under observation, not to confine him. Perhaps we misinterpreted what happened in the chair room, and Carson does have a point about the charter in that he should have been consulted."

Ford crossed his arms and shook his head.

"Look," Carson said, "what if we simply ask John to promise he won't go anywhere without permission?"

There was absolute silence for the length of several sentences.

"No." It was John who broke the silence.

"John," Elizabeth turned to face him through the bars again, "You work under Rodney and Carson, surely you'd be willing to ask them before trying anything."

"I haven't done any part of my work without approval." Ronon noticed that John had no problem meeting Weir's eyes. "That's different than needing permission to leave a room. I will not be my own jailer."

"John—" Carson started.

"Do any of you understand what you're asking?" Rodney interrupted. "John has been treated like a slave and even displayed in a cage since he was a kid. Are you no better than that? Would you ask him to be complicit in giving up his freedom? That would be like asking the caveman, Ronon, if we could put a new tracking device in his back to make us all feel a bit more comfortable."

Ronon was shocked by the analogy and the apparent concern for his own freedom. He was surprised the loud-mouthed scientist had been the one to say it, but it was said in support of John, who was clearly Rodney's brother in arms if not his mate.

"With all due respect," Ford said, "I think both Dr. McKay and Dr. Beckett may be a little biased in this matter."

At that a voice much deeper and more clearly enunciating than John's sounded from one corner of the room:

You've got to be taught to be afraid

Of people whose eyes are oddly made

And people whose skin is a different shade…

As Ford whirled toward the noise and then back toward John, a high-pitched voice from another corner overlapped the melody and sang out:

For you see my roommate is

Unusually and exceedingly peculiar

And all together quite impossible to describe

And a new voice from the same corner put in, "Blond," showing that Earth culture at least knew about direct dialog in song, which John's previous music hadn't demonstrated. Then a strong voice with a deep emotional tone joined in from another corner:

These kids hit walls on every side

They don't belong in any place

Their secret they can't hide

It's written on their face

By this point Ford was yelling at John, "Make it stop. This is ridiculous."

John shook his head and continued to lean defiantly against the wall. "I have nothing to do with this. I have never before heard any of these songs."

Which was when first Carson's and then Weir's gaze drifted to Kusanagi who was standing silently in the corner. The devices she'd carried in sat at her feet on the floor. Her eyes behind some sort of giant lenses, had been fixed on the floor, but she looked up when all eyes in the room finally rested on her. As the dialog of two voices finished singing out, "Loathing you my whole life long!" the room when silent.

Into the silence Kusanagi said in a quiet but clear voice, "It should be pointed out that Dr. McKay is not the only one biased in this matter."

As Rodney's jaw dropped and Ford's jaw clenched, John began to laugh. Within a breath or two John's laughter became a harsh braying sound much like certain herd beasts Ronon had encountered. It was an unpleasant sound but so unlike anything Ronon could imagine from a Wraith, that he gave in and saw John as no more alien than the rest of the Earthlings.

Finally he thought, the people from Earth might be worthy of Atlantis after all.

#

Chuck announced, "Compressed video message from General O'Neill tagged for command staff to view immediately." Weir ushered Carson and Ford into her office where they all remained standing as a wall screen lit up. It had been a very trying night and day since they sent Stargate Command a data burst with everyone's reports and complaints.

"O'Neill here. Thanks for all the mail, kids. To think some people worried you wouldn't write once you left home." O'Neill picked up a stack of papers from his desk. "In response to Lieutenant Ford's request for us to send an on base commanding officer, obviously you won't be getting anyone new until the Daedalus is cleared to visit Pegasus. However, and you're going to love this, I'm giving you a field promotion to captain and interim command of Atlantis with Colonel Sumner acting in an advisory status only. Congratulations, son."

Ford went rigid and saluted the screen. The recorded image of O'Neill gave a brief shake of his head and saluted back.

"In response to your concerns and others from military members stating that the science staff is out of control: cold showers, overheated rooms, songs about prejudiced thinking"—O'Neill raised a single eyebrow but continued—"not sharing the fish fry, cartoons in poor taste, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, welcome to my world. We sent good people. Something already filtered out a few bad apples we missed. Make the best of what you've got for a month or so, and we'll send your second wave and the best assistance we can on the Daedalus. Hopefully your city will let them in. For Drs. Weir and Beckett, I first want to share a thought from our favorite archeologist about the selection of the musicals."

Daniel Jackson appeared on screen in a recording from his office, "Miss Saigon, Wicked, and South Pacific could offer an interesting foundation for interacting with alien cultures—"

"That covers about all you need to know from that perspective. As for the thirty-two comments and complaints sent by Dr. Beckett and other science staff, peaceful protest is fine and dandy. Weir, feel free to send them all to their rooms if they can't play nice until the Daedalus gets there. O'Neill out."

#

Ronon was perplexed by the man named O'Neill who seemed to outrank both Sumner and Ford but didn't care to assert his own authority.

He was not surprised at all by Sumner's reaction when Atlantis immediately called the quarantine planet to share the communication from Earth.

"What? He can't place a captain in charge of Atlantis."

"But he did, sir."

"Captain, I order you to keep that freak locked up."

"I'll take that under advisement, sir."

John was released within an hour following a joint announcement by Carson, Ford and Weir asking all expeditions members to allow others freedom of choice, particularly in musical entertainment and water temperature and specifying that either Ford or Beckett must approve any requests to access the control chair.

#

Back in his room, John stripped down to his skin. The room was still as warm as he'd left it, but John was tense and cold. He wanted to climb in bed and pile on the covers, but he felt dirty from the cell.

It hadn't been a dirty cell.

He stumbled into the shower and warm water misted down on him. It wasn't enough.

The water pounded down harder and hotter until John was holding his arms out in front to take the brunt of it. The droplets stung in a painful, itchy, pleasant way. John thought to pull away but didn't. The longer he held out his arms, especially his blue arm under the pelting hot water, the better it felt. Turning his left side into the spray, his inhuman skin seemed to vibrate, to sensitize. It felt good but so strange. When he realized it was turning him on—his cock was half hard, warm, and wet—he felt ashamed of the alien reaction.

He didn't move.

This was something he'd never known before. The way his thick blue skin reacted to the barrage of warm water held him mesmerized. Instead of fading, the sensation grew stronger. His skin seemed to awaken and respond. All of him responded. His body hummed with it. Nothing he'd tried had ever turned him on so much or so fast. When his cock was swollen full and red, he couldn't help but reach his more human hand down to stroke and squeeze. Pleasure spread from that touch to the sensitized skin under the water and back.

He was burning. He was sparking. He was throbbing and coming hard.

Half falling against the back wall, John let the shower rinse him clean. The spray became a finer mist, still warm, but not as hot and striking.

Gradually John sank down to the floor, legs spread out half bent in front of him. His head rested on the wall and he refused to think. He felt great but as far from human as he ever had. That was not how humans had sex. Let out of the cage, he was still a monster or at least half animal. But why should a creature care? A creature could just relax and be warm. If tears leaked into the water washing his face, he couldn't be expected to understand why.

#

Rodney followed John from the cell to his room trying to talk to him, but John didn't listen. That crazy-haired lab assistant let his door lock behind him without a word.

There were a million better things Rodney should be doing in the lab, but instead he locked himself in his own room next door. There was plenty to do on his laptop and tablet, and the scientist had had enough of human drama to last for weeks.

He'd reprogrammed his tablet in another bid to identify and locate possible ZPMs when a sound like someone blowing through a straw caused him to raise his eyes. The wall between his room and John's was developing a vertical seam. It became a rectangle. It slid open: a door.

"Hello?" Rodney asked, setting his work aside.

When he walked through, John's room was empty but heated to at least eighty degrees.

Then the door to the bathroom opened and Rodney heard the shower water even as his head automatically turned. A very naked John Serano was hunched on the floor of the shower as if he'd passed out or fallen asleep.

"Are you okay, John?" Rodney moved into the bathroom doorway to be seen. "Did you do something to open a door between our rooms? Or is the city running some new emergency protocol?"

As Rodney's heart started to pound, John looked up and sideways at him. His face was flushed and dazed, like he had a fever or like—Rodney wasn't going to think about that right now.

"Did you pass out? Note that I would never call it fainting and there would be nothing wrong with whatever happened, unless of course there is something wrong and you need me to call Carson."

John raised a hand and before it reached his hair the shower turned off. He pressed extra water from nearly vertical spikes as air jets hissed around him. Evidently Ancient showers included a full body blow dry function.

"I'm fine." John didn't sound fine.

He might just be tired. Rodney thought back to sharing a bed in Antarctica and wondered if John might ever want company, even if he wasn't freezing. He knew it was probably an inappropriate thought, but it wasn't as if he or John had any sort of normal friendship up to this point.

"Why's it so hot in here?"

John rolled his eyes. Then he lifted his arms, fluffed his hair and started to stand up.

Rodney looked at the wall, but it happened to have a mirror. He wondered how anyone could look so relaxed and graceful standing up from a shower floor. "What? I knew you were cold in Antarctica, but—It's not like you had a heat lamp in your Bug Boy set-up. Did you have one in your wagon?"

The look on John's face was suddenly tense and wrinkled with pain.

"Wait. Does this mean you were cold all the time?" He glanced at a chair where the heated hunting socks he'd given John had clearly been hung out to dry. "You're still cold here. You were cold in that cell. I was right. Have you talked to Carson? Maybe there's some metabolic difference or whatever. I barely believe what those voodoo peddlers say, but I still go to see them when my body is misbehaving."

John huffed as he wiped his back dry, not seeming to care that he was naked. "Maybe mine's meant to work like this."

The words boiled out of Rodney, and he was back in his element. "You know I have hypoglycemia. You think that means I should eat like everyone else and then lose the ability to think clearly and let myself pass out sometimes? No, it means I carry snacks and insult anyone who insults me for needing them. You being cold is a medical condition, and it is Carson's job to help you manage it."

"I think I can manage it now." John waved an arm at the steamy bathroom and the overheated room beyond. Then he half pushed Rodney out of the bathroom doorway and got himself pajama pants out of a duffle on the floor. Half-dressed he looked at the new door between their rooms. "I had nothing to do with that."

"Are you sure? Maybe it was subconscious when you needed help."

John stiffened. Standing too straight looked wrong on John. "I didn't need help. I was relaxing in the shower."

"Don't grump at me, Mr. Mermaid. Maybe the city brought me in to keep you from wasting water."

John shook his head. "I think I'll sleep now, unless you or the city objects." He climbed into bed, pulling the covers up above his shoulders and turning his back to Rodney and the open door to Rodney's room.

"Oh, well then, I'll get out of your way. It's not like I asked for the door." As he said it, Rodney hoped it was true, although it would be fantastic if his new ATA gene let him open doors wherever he wanted.

As he stepped back into his own space, the door closed behind him and sealed to look like an ordinary patch of wall. Rodney tried to focus on opening a new door to the hallway, but nothing happened. He tried envisioning a spyhole in his door. Nothing changed. He wondered if he could reopen the door to John's room to check on him, and with a faint hiss the vertical seam started to reform. With frantic thoughts of "no" and "not now" Rodney managed to stop that and put the wall back as it was. Then he picked up his tablet and tried to research Ancient architecture and emergency protocols. He tried very hard not to think of John sleeping on the other side of the wall.

#

It was easy to enter the transporter first without Carson seeing. The healer had honed neither the instincts of predator nor prey. He had moved predictably and unobservantly after finishing his breakfast.

As soon as Carson stepped in, Ronon pressed for the far East side of the first basement. The Earthlings powering up the transporters in the main tower was one of the greatest benefits of their arrival. Before Carson could speak or activate his radio Ronon used words the doctor had offered him before. "I swear I will not try to hurt or mislead you. There's something you should see. If asked, you could say you were checking on the natural disaster supplies below this tower and got lost."

He could see the fast pulse in Carson's neck, but the healer met his eyes and nodded. "I need to radio my staff to say when I'll be back. Is half an hour enough?"

The time units were not automatically translated and Ronon had not learned the Earthling's system yet. "Half the length of one of the music stories."

Carson tilted his head but soon said, "I'll ask for an hour then. Are we going where my radio won't work?"

Ronon shrugged.

"Carson to infirmary," the healer said tapping his ear, "I'm going to be checking supplies for about an hour. Dr. Biro is on call if you can't reach me."

Ronon led Carson out of the elevator and down a basement passage that connected to the next tower over. Not having a military guard in that position was a foolish oversight in Ronon's opinion. But Ronon had no objections to taking advantage of this military's disarray in order to keep Carson out of his hidden vents and passages.

#

Carson was in good enough shape to keep up with Ronon as they followed an exceedingly long corridor and then climbed four flights of stairs. But it was just as well Ronon didn't expect to talk along the way. As they came out into a vast room with large pillars and ceiling baffles, Carson was already close to breathless. The beauty of the patterned high windows and ornately painted surfaces stole the rest of his breath. As he struggled to see the pictures that drew his eyes higher up the pillars nearest to him, accent lights came on to highlight a succession of images in what he had at first taken to be one continuous mural. It was only after the fact that Carson realized he'd used his ATA gene to trigger the lights without even thinking about it. He swallowed his discomfort but didn't turn them off.

Beside him Ronon huffed, "Would have been handy when I was painting."

"You painted this?" Carson asked without taking his eyes from what he'd taken for Ancient art.

"Not that one." Ronon led him to a pillar on the far side of the room with strong light almost surrounding it from corner windows. The painting style was different, slightly softer and less photo realistic, but it was still a mostly realistic series of images wrapped around a pillar at least twenty feet high.

"You painted that? It's amazing." Carson hadn't visited an art museum in over a decade, but he thought this work was as good as anything he'd seen.

"No one else to share it. You brought someone to illustrate your music stories? Show them here." Ronon gestured slightly toward undecorated pillars on his right.

Carson's mind tumbled with questions and what little he knew about alien diplomacy. If this was the first time Ronon had shown himself since they arrived, he must consider this room important. He'd used the term "music stories" as a time reference, and Carson had assumed he meant the musicals Kusanagi had been broadcasting to various parts of the expedition virtually non-stop while John was imprisoned. Now John was freed, and Ronon thought it worth swearing an oath and grabbing Carson to show him this room of painted pillars. He looked up at the ceiling like a cathedral but with hanging diagonal panels more reminiscent of a concert hall. "You're suggesting someone paint pictures on these pillars to go with the musicals that have been playing?"

Ronon nodded.

"Can you tell me more about this tradition? It seems a little different from what I'm used to."

"Not so different. Your music stories have places for pictures. This is the Ancestor's place to share music stories. There is room for your pictures here." He made the same slight gesture, a sort of shrug with an out-turned hand, toward the empty pillars again.

"Is all of your music shared with pictures?" Carson asked.

"No." It took most of a minute for Ronon to say more, as if he couldn't guess what Carson was asking. "Songs like John's 'A Boy Called Sue' are complete. Music stories have places for pictures." After another pause where Ronon watched Carson for understanding, the big man continued, "The song with 'this nearly was mine' responds to a challenge not sung, so I know it must be shown. This is a basic structure in the history of music stories." Carson hesitated, trying to remember the song and what he knew of the musical _South Pacific_. "From the rest, I guessed the man had revealed children whose appearance brought out a bias in his lover. Not written to be a puzzle though. I know this form. The Ancestors"—he gestured low again but this time toward the Ancients' decorated pillars—"knew this form. Some of your people are closely related to the Ancestors?"

Carson knew there had been discussions about what connection they should claim to the Ancestors. He didn't know how any of the strategies related to Ronon. This situation, with Ronon coming out of hiding to share something about art and culture, didn't fit anyone's plans. "Are you showing me this now because you want to build an alliance?"

Ronon shrugged.

"Do you know why Kusanagi chose those music stories?"

"Ford ordered John locked up. Let him go."

Given how much Ronon seemed to know of the expedition's activities and understand about the musicals, Carson figured Kusanagi's not at all subtle point about prejudice seemed too obvious for Ronon to mention. Carson tried again to think like a diplomat. "I believe Ford and Weir would be interested in talking to you now. Should I bring them here?"

"Have Kusanagi paint first. Then we will share music stories."

"Do I have to wait until then to hear your music story?"

#

Ronon wasn't sure Carson knew what he was asking. He'd asked to hear Ronon's music story before anyone else. But he had declined Ronon's offer of sex on even the most limited basis, as a comfort to the healer. Their traditions surrounding intimacy were different. Carson wouldn't understand what his request meant. Despite that, Ronon wanted to share his song with Carson first.

"You will need more time."

"I could come back later. Perhaps I could bring some food to share for dinner?"

For a moment, Ronon thought Carson understood the implications after all.

"Would it be okay if I brought Kusanagi as well?" Carson added. "She might have better ideas about the pictures or questions about how to do this."

Carson did not understand. If he understood, he would not invite Kusanagi unless they were paired. If Carson were in any sort of a relationship with Kusanagi, Ronon would have seen some sign of it by now. But Ronon did not need to be understood by the people from Earth. He would do the best he could for Atlantis and himself. "Practical. I might have questions for her. Will you both swear not to hurt or mislead me when you come back?"

"Yes, of course. Kusanagi and I are the last people who would want to hurt you."

Ronon knew that wasn't always enough. He'd seen how fast the military turned on John, who'd come with them, but was different. Ford and the mysterious O'Neill had later listened to the arguments from others, like Carson and Kusanagi. That was part of why Ronon brought Carson here now.

"I will meet you here at your dinnertime."

#

"Dr. McKay?"

"Dr. McKay?"

"Dr. McKay?"

Rodney had disassembled the memory metal activation tool Ronon had supposedly charged before they arrived. He was much more interested in seeing if such a minor device was equipped to accept different power sources than he was bothered by someone repeating his name.

"Rodney, would you please answer Dr. Johnson before she loses her voice saying your name over and over again?"

John had been grumpy all day, but Rodney couldn't ignore him after seeing him imprisoned and then whatever had happened with the shower last night that left him so wrung out. "You answer her. I deputize you as my assistant to deal with whatever she needs."

"Sorry about that." The smoother tone of voice suggested John was no longer talking to Rodney. Unfortunately, it was hard to ignore anything John said. He was very distracting. "You know how it is when some people get focused on a project. Is there something I can help with?"

The intruding female voice, evidently Dr. Johnson, replied, "Dr. Wagner and I are supposed to check out a possible energy source in another tower. When we arrived Lieut—I mean Captain Ford said civilians weren't to enter any other towers until they were cleared by the military. But the announcement yesterday only mentioned needing authorization—from Dr. Carson or Captain Ford—to access the control chair. But with what happened to Hewston and Watson—right here in this tower with the exploding tumor machine—I thought there might be new safety protocols coming out—"

"Stop! Stop!" Rodney shouted. "None of us will ever get any work done again at this rate."

"Rodney, it's a reasonable question," John drawled, and that wasn't the way he usually talked. Rodney didn't like it.

"There was no question. She was never going to reach a question. If she had, what she's asking about is exactly what you were trying to sort out in the control chair before those jackbooted thugs dragged you off." Rodney was starting to move with his own words and work out a little of the tension he'd been feeling since the night before when John interrupted in his infuriatingly calm tones.

"And now we just need Carson's approval to figure out safer ways to approach the power problem."

Rodney realized that was a much more interesting task than backwards engineering the memory metal activation tool. "Let's go find Carson."

#

The last time John had a large audience while sitting in a control chair, he'd been outed as blue and earned the undying enmity of Dr. Kavanagh and Colonel Sumner. This time they'd ended up with Kusanagi and Carson, who'd been discussing something suspiciously hush hush when they'd finally tracked the doctor down. Dr. Johnson had followed them all the way from McKay's lab. The guards at the door of the chair room had called Ford, who'd shown up in person along with Weir and Grodin. It made the chair room very crowded. "At least I have somewhere to sit," John joked aloud, trying to channel O'Neill but sounding more like Rodney to his own ears.

Rodney was racing around the chair hooking up Earth and Ancient devices to take power and other readings and possibly record information in whatever form John could channel it out. "Go ahead," Rodney said.

Given the lack of instruction, John asked Dr. Johnson who'd started the whole parade, "What lab were you originally asking about?"

She held up a tablet to show him a tower schematic as well as Ancient signifiers. John closed his eyes and sat back in the chair. He visualized what he'd seen on Johnson's screen and asked mentally if it was safe. The chair responded by projecting the schematic for the tower and floor in question above John and marking is as safe and unpowered. John questioned if it would be safe if powered, and the city lit up the room in question. John got the feeling it was safe, but he tried asking if Dr. Johnson would be safe going there and turning things on or opening containers. Suddenly, the lit up room started flashing and a dust of particles seemed to rain down across the room. A screen of text in Ancient projected next to the lab floorplan.

"Can anyone read that?" Rodney asked.

When there was no immediate answer John said, "I got the impression that it was safe for me but not for her. Or maybe it was just if she opened something or turned something on?"

"Nanite danger," Kusanagi said. "It's saying something about nanite danger to some group. I don't know that word, but it later says the nanites won't harm Ancients or Wraith, and they don't self-propagate."

John heard a yelp-like noise from Dr. Johnson that she'd probably deny making but that John couldn't blame her for.

"Your knowledge of Ancient is very good," Weir said. "I don't know half those words."

"We each focus on different subject matter," Carson offered. "John, is there a way to assign warning symbols for rooms with nanites or anything else Atlantis deems dangerous, to either Ancients or what I'm guessing is a term that includes other humans?"

The symbols appeared before John really even thought about it.

"Can you do that for the main tower?" Ford asked.

Images with symbols began to pop up all over the room. "Pause!" Rodney yelled. "The power drain increased by an order of magnitude. It might be worth it, but try asking for a less power intense data dump first."

There was a beep from John's jacket, and he cursed himself for carrying the mapping and life signs device on his person.

"What's that?" Ford asked.

"A handheld mapping device I was studying. It's inside my jacket." John figured if he volunteered that much, he might avoid mentioning his illicit visit to the Puddle Jumpers. Luckily Rodney didn't ask anything or give him away. He didn't ask before unzipping John's jacket and taking the device either, but someone had been bound to do it. At least John was used to Rodney touching him.

"Can we add these symbols to the display in the Gate Room without increased power drain?" Rodney asked.

"Seems like," John answered as it happened. Sometimes sitting in an Ancient control chair felt a lot like being a communications component in a larger entity. That was another reason why working alone or with only Rodney was preferable to having an audience.

Weir clicked her radio, "Chuck, can you check the tower sensor displays to see if any new symbols have been added. Check the room with the exploding tumor machine first."

Chuck replied quickly, "It shows a danger symbol that wasn't there before and something else I've seen in the infirmary."

"Very good. Thank you, Chuck." Weir clicked her radio off and spoke to those present in the room, "This seems like an excellent use of the control chair. I'm glad to see everyone working together."

"We have a few power supply issues to check as well," Rodney said.

"Could you check weapons and defenses as well?" Ford asked.

Now that John knew how to ask for information to be disseminated in ways that didn't use too much power, he was able to ask about possible weapons, defenses, alternative power sources, other ZPMs, and even how to search for other trackers like the one taken out of Ronon. By the time John left the control chair, he was exhausted, but at least no one arrested him or dragged him into a meeting.

"Could I borrow that mapping device?" Ford asked. "Or do you have any more? Those would be very useful for our patrols."

"May I see it for a moment first?" Kusanagi asked. She was the sort of person who rarely spoke without a reason, in John's experience. When she wandered to the edge of the room and Carson followed, John couldn't help focusing his hearing on their conversation. "The room isn't uploaded yet."

Carson asked quietly, "Is there some other way you can check?"

"Probably, I'll know before tonight." Kusanagi handed the device off to Ford, and John suspected he wouldn't get that one back. He wondered if every Jumper he'd seen had at least one and how soon he could talk his way back onto a Jumper.

#

Ronon watched Carson and Kusanagi enter the storytelling center. He watched them spread a blanket on the floor near the pillar he'd shown Carson that he had painted. The two Earthlings set out three pillows and piled food in the middle. There was more than MRE's. They'd brought fish rolled in rice and also a bright yellow box like nothing Ronon had seen before.

He watched for any sign that they knew they'd been followed. They didn't look back the way they'd come. They didn't look toward the access panel John and Rodney eventually settled behind. In a way, it reassured Ronon to know that some Earthlings would notice if two people unskilled at subterfuge were sneaking away to an unknown destination. The way Carson and Kusanagi didn't even look to see where Ronon might be hiding was a bit too trusting to survive long without others watching out for them. Instead of exposing the intruders, Ronon decided to let them watch through their grating. It was unlikely that those two would attack him or call in the military to do so.

Ducking out and back in again through a window, Ronon called out from a secure spot where no weapons could target him through a vent and where any window would have to be opened to do so. "Could you bring that over here?"

When both Carson and Kusanagi recovered from their startle, they dragged the blanket by two corners to where Ronon stood. He positioned them for a good view of his personal music story pillar and then sat where he had a solid exterior wall at his back.

Carson said, "Specialist Ronon Dex, let me introduce you to Dr. Miko Kusanagi." Ronon remembered her role in helping the injured man in the nets as well as her part in sharing music stories. He also knew an introductory ritual when he heard one.

Not sure of the expected response, he kept it brief. "Call me Ronon."

"Please, call me Kusanagi, if you don't mind. I am used to it from my work and forget to answer to my first name." Ronon would use her preferred name. Maybe later he'd understand why she felt a need to justify the request.

#

Pulling the blanket across the smooth floor was awkward, but as soon as Carson completed introductions and took his seat, he saw that the pillar in their new location was also painted in the style Ronon had claimed as his own. He looked around and spotted a third. He had no idea how long it must have taken the man to paint such works, although he would guess from the net traps when they arrived that Ronon would have had no trouble constructing rigging to paint the higher sections. It gave Carson a new perspective on the concept of a "Renaissance man."

"While we eat, perhaps you could tell us more about your art?" Carson wasn't sure, but he thought expressionism on Earth used colors to denote mood more than realism. While parts of Ronon's paintings, especially the people, were very realistic, the backgrounds on this pillar were less precise, and they varied from bright and fiery to gray and dark in an almost predictable pattern. He couldn't imagine a story that would alternate between fierce and sad scenes that way. Then he remembered the pictures were only meant to be part of the story.

"You don't want me to start with the story?"

"I thought you'd like a chance to eat first, but we can wait if you want."

"You brought a lot of food."

Carson didn't want to say he'd worried Ronon might be hungry. "In addition to our regular food, it's traditional to bring something extra for a special occasion. I brought a box of ginger cookies we can have afterward for dessert." He gestured toward the precious box he'd dug out of his personal possessions.

Kusanagi nodded in appreciation and said, "I had a portion of fish which I wrapped in rice to make appetizers to eat before our meal."

"Should I have brought something?" Ronon asked.

"You're doing more than either of us. You're providing art and song."

Ronon looked blank and Carson worried that it might be rude to refer to a music story that way. Then Ronon said, "We'll eat, and I will tell you what I know of the Ancestors' art and of art on Sateda."

#

Rodney was bored within minutes. After trailing Carson and then sneaking through access corridors to find a place to spy, Rodney had expected something more than an art discussion.

He was glad he'd insisted they eat a quick dinner when they saw Carson collecting MRE's, but Rodney was intensely jealous of Carson's cookies. Who knew when any of them would have cookies from Earth again. Of course, Rodney had his own private stash of chocolate, but that didn't mean he wouldn't like to try the cookies that Carson had thought worth bringing from Earth.

Most of Ronon's answers and descriptions of visual arts in Pegasus meant little to Rodney. It wasn't something he'd studied about his own people. The descriptions of scales, rhythms, and composition structures evocated a melancholy fascination. As a child Rodney had imagined himself as a composer, until his piano teacher had told him his music was technically impressive but lacked feeling.

Beside him, John seemed fascinated, hunched forward in the too tight space. Rodney felt John's bent leg press against his own, but when he looked that way the small space made him uncomfortable. He focused again on his partly obscured view of the dinner picnic and arts discussion.

#

"You trained as both a musician and artist?" Carson asked, opening the package of ginger cookies.

"Before war took Sateda," Ronon said, "a common path to become an officer was to alternate each year of military service with a year of academic study. I studied to become a traveling bard. Then I could share music stories wherever I was stationed. It is not uncommon for a military bard to paint pillars at a long term posting or after his service, in areas that cannot attract a master bard. In my final year of study, I would have composed my own one singer story. Traditionally this is a coming of age or family tale. As possibly the last of my people, I have used my story to tell of the final war and the end of Sateda." Ronon made the low gesture Carson had seen before toward the pillar they were eating beside. While seated, it almost looked as if he were wiping crumbs off their picnic blanket. "Shall I begin?"

"Please, have a cookie first. I believe Kusanagi has a question."

Ronon chomped happily on his first cookie and took a second. Carson didn't have the heart to tell him that there might be no more after this one box.

Kusanagi nodded to Carson without taking a cookie and asked, "You refer to your composition as a one singer story. Are there usually multiple singers?"

Ronon did not wait to finish chewing. That did not appear to be a piece of etiquette he'd encountered. "A one singer music story is the simplest to perform and often follows a linear retelling from one point of view. There are many composed by students. But some master works of great emotion and insight are created for one voice and there are techniques to indicate memories or shifts through time. Most epic sharings involve two parts as well as a narrator or chorus part that may be performed by the initial two voices joined together or by a large guild group or student group. For some festivals the audience sings those parts. If I ever perform with the other two pillars I have painted, I will either need to train a second singer or step through different parts myself."

"Could you share music stories without painting a pillar first?" Kusanagi finally ate a cookie as Ronon took a while to answer.

"It is common to share excerpts in a teaching setting, but to share a music story all the way through without the visual parts would be a disservice to the art and artists involved."

"How many music stories do you know?"

"Seventy-two complete."

Kusanagi's eyes went wide behind her glasses. "Are they all about Sateda?"

"No, a few come from civilized allies. I know six from the Ancestors that have pillars in this room."

"Would you share those with us sometime?"

Ronon nodded as he finished off two more cookies and emptied the cup of tea Carson had poured him. "Are you ready? I will motion when you need to move around the pillar."

#

John didn't know what to make of Ronon's singing. He didn't know much about international music on Earth, but he would have guessed this as some kind of Asian chanting back there. Whatever the Gate did to translate fell short on some words, and after a while John began to recognize those untranslatable words that recurred as proper nouns: destinations or locations of battles, very rarely people's names. It was easy to lose himself in the anger and determination that Ronon's voice carried in the battle scenes or the horror when huge Wraith hive ships destroyed whole cities from the sky. Without being able to see all the pictures, John wasn't sure exactly what happened when a Wraith's palm pressed into someone's chest. But he knew the person died by the end. The betrayal by the soldier's taskmaster was devastating. There was also a love story about a doctor, which at first seemed to mostly set up a debate on when soldiers or doctors should flee a doomed planet. When the doctor died and her soldier/lover found out, John didn't know what to feel.

The picture showed the soldier holding a wounded child as a burst of light exploded a window behind the doctor. While the doctor was only a silhouette taken out by an energy weapon, there was something loving and reverential in the lines of her body. The despair on the soldier's face carried over into the set of his muscles and slope of his neck. The way Ronon sang it sounded so personal. John suddenly felt like worse than a spy, like he was intruding on something private.

His body was tense all over, still sore from his time in a cell the day before. Now he sat in a small access hatch with Rodney, looking through an Ancient grill pattern at art he could barely make out on the sides of all the pillars he could see. The floor and walls were cold. He had to work not to think about the city heating the space to suit him. To his right, Rodney was warm and familiar. Their legs and arms pressed together in the small space, and John wanted to lean into that warmth more and more as the story Ronon was singing grew sadder and sadder. Instead he focused on keeping still and silent.

#

As he closed with his finale about running, sanctuary, and emergence as a bard without a people, Ronon felt exhausted but more settled than he had since before the war. When he'd stumbled into the City of the Ancestors, the Runner had been close to feral, barely able to think in words let alone compose his music story. Now the bard stood, head bowed. Carson and Kusanagi clapped their hands, which was an odd response. But they both had tear tracks on their faces, and their attentiveness during his performance had been gratifying.

"That was amazing," Kusanagi said. In that moment she sounded like an overawed student, but she was the one who had chosen music stories to voice her protest and persuade others. While he'd offered this performance for Carson, it was Kusanagi who had broken down the barriers by showing Earth people could understand such sharing. "If you performed that on Earth you'd win a Tony Award, maybe two."

"Aye, I've never seen anything finer. I am honored you would share your music story with us." Carson's eyes met his easily. The healer's words were so close to what a lover or parent might say that Ronon's interest in him broadened even further. Ronon understood better than he ever had as a student what it meant for art to be universal. "Thank you." With the ritual completed, Ronon sat down.

There was silence while Carson poured more tea and set out the box of cookies again. Ronon noticed that Kusanagi waited until he'd had several sips of tea and two cookies before she started asking questions.

"Your pictures seem to be arranged in three columns with some scenes crossing two and some divided into smaller sections. But you only had us move twice, so there is basically a vertical line that marks the beginning and end. How much of that structure is required and how much varies between works or cultures?"

"I've never seen a pillar without a terminus line"—although Ronon was drawn to the idea as he thought about it—"but rules in art are made to be broken. Your music stories use more individual singers than anything I've heard before, especially the one about Elphaba. Was the green elixir her mother drank supposed to alter humans or was it somehow related to the talking animal storyline?"

"If it was like elixirs that conmen such as the Wizard might sell on Earth," Kusanagi answered, "then it was probably some form of alcohol reputed to have various medicinal effects, none of which were factual or tested."

"Does that story not come from your planet?" Ronon took another cookie. They were like nothing he'd ever tasted and possibly the best thing he'd ever eaten.

"Oh, it's an Earth story. The musical, _Wicked_ , is based on a children's book that shows the Wizard before he's accidentally transported from Earth to Oz by a tornado. But everything about Oz is fictional."

"You have a whole music story about a fictional place?" Like a music story without a terminus line, Ronon had never considered such a presentation. "Is it still based on real people and events?"

"Not directly, no." Rather than looking away or becoming quiet when questioned, Kusanagi spoke more clearly and sat up straighter. Ronon liked her better for it. "I personally have a great fondness for fantasy and science fiction in writing, film, and musicals. When I was younger I practiced a form of illustrated written storytelling called manga that I think could adapt well if I were to illustrate a music story on a pillar here." She stared up and then tilted her head toward an empty pillar as if studying a blank canvas. "The style would be a good fit for _Wicked_. In a fantastical setting, whatever the medium, the creator can make an abstract statement about issues such as prejudice. This might allow their work to resonate with more audiences, even future audiences with problems the artist couldn't foresee. Some people on Earth think fantasy and science fiction are only suitable for children. But for me, that sort of art means even more. _Wicked_ points out how being prejudiced against someone green is as arbitrary as any biases based on skin color, facial features, sex, gender, physical conditions, mental issues, places of origin, religion, anything really."

"Are you saying there are no green people on Earth, but all those other distinctions have caused persecution and battles in your past?"

Kusanagi nodded her head vigorously. "Americans even call it a 'witch hunt' when people are persecuted for imaginary or inflated reasons."

Ronon had to ask, "And blue people like John? Is that caused by some elixir?"

#

For John, the mention of his name was the last straw. There was no way he should be listening in on this. Carson and Kusanagi weren't in any danger or doing anything wrong. Why hadn't he and Rodney left once that was clear?

Now he felt trapped and also transfixed. Ronon was looking at Kusanagi. She was looking at Carson, whose face was hidden behind the pillar from where John sat. After a painfully long pause Carson said, "As John's doctor, there are matters it would be improper for me to comment on or even speculate about openly. But I think it is safe to say that John's case is unique, and the difficulties he's encountered here and before show the truth of what Kusanagi is saying. Most people on Earth have never seen anything like him. Most of them don't even know life exists on other planets. But your question makes me wonder, do people seem less prejudiced here, where travel between planets is common and well known?"

John took a breath. A tremor passed through his body.

Without a word or even a look, Rodney's arm reached across his back. Rodney's hand rested on John's shoulder, holding him closer and warming him more than the physical closeness could explain.

#

"We have prejudice. People do not trust what they do not understand. Maybe less is about skin color or facial features, although some planets are more insular than others." Ronon wanted to believe his people, at least the Satedans, were better than the Earthlings. But he'd considered killing John for nothing more than some blue skin. Yes, blue skin was unknown to him, but so were all the people who came through the Gate with John, and some demonstrated themselves to be much more threatening or dangerous from the start. John's skin wasn't even that similar to the Wraith. Ronon had been as prejudiced by skin color as Ford or Colonel Sumner appeared to be.

Ronon paused to collect himself. Remembering other topics he'd wanted to discuss, the bard gestured toward his pillar again. "Some societies here have biases about women—as inferior or superior—because they bear children. Your music stories portray war and love much as ours do. They all include children, but differently. After Tui threatened Kim's child, no one I've ever met would be surprised that she killed him. Why didn't he expect it?" Kusanagi opened her mouth to answer, but Ronon couldn't stop there. "And why were the children of war shunned? The line 'someone has to pay for their chance to live' made no sense. Children are valuable. A population with no young people will die out. Most consider the children of war, even fathered by an invading army, to be precious and especially strong. The children of insular societies are more often sickly or deformed, but even they never lack for a home and proper care. Why would that be different on Earth?"

Kusanagi waited. Finally she said, " _Miss Saigon_ is based on events in a real time and place. It is not always like that. But with what you described of the Wraith regularly culling populations, I don't suppose you have problems with overpopulation or overcrowding?"

The words themselves made their meaning clear in translation, but Ronon had never imagined having too many people as a problem. "I've known families blessed with many children who struggled to feed them in bad years. But no adult would let a child go hungry if they could stop it. There are music stories of heroic efforts and journeys to fierce or unknown planets to bring back food. They always focus on feeding the children. No honorable adult would let a child starve. Can our people be that different?" The thought made Ronon's head hurt even as he was still questioning his biases against John.

#-

Carson didn't want to be in the position of defending Earth's history, and he doubted he could. He felt guilty by association as he realized he had accepted as natural something that to an alien seemed too horrible to imagine. "Many people on Earth would find the thought of hurting a child, through action or inaction, as terrible as you clearly do. But there are times and places where those aren't the people in power."

Kusanagi nodded solemnly looking smaller than she had before. "May I ask, Ronon, how factual or unbiased you believe the music stories here to be?"

The big man leaned back, muscles tightening to support him as he settled his weight on his arms. Carson couldn't help but notice the beauty of his body in front of the pillar that reflected the beauty of his mind. "Artists, historians, and philosophers constantly debate how far facts should bend to the artist's will. But even the best documented history is biased by who tells the story."

"There is a saying on Earth: history is written by the victors," Kusanagi said.

Ronon couldn't help but smile. "People said similar things on Sateda. But with music stories, especially epics with more than one voice, there is usually an effort to show more than one point of view. We say the greatest loss is to forget and fail to learn." Carson and Kusanagi both smiled, and Ronon was certain their people said something similar. "In a music story, the artist strives to capture the audience as well as the truth. A people are defined as much by how they feel about their society and history as by their family of descent. Music stories are as surely a people's legacy as any documented history."

"I wonder," Kusanagi said, "what it would be like if the best composers, writers, and directors on Broadway set out to make a musical using history as more than a backdrop. I'd want to see it, but I'm not sure how successful it would be. There was a musical about the United States Declaration of Independence called _1776_ , and I think there might have been other efforts like that at the time, but modern musicals are more about capturing the audience than about sharing historical legacies. We should be able to do both, although it might require a more interesting subject than America's founding fathers."

"If a master bard is passionate about the subject, the audience will follow," Ronon said.

At the same time Carson asked, "Why Broadway instead of London's West End?"

Kusanagi smiled at Ronon and shrugged at Carson. "They all make it to Broadway eventually, but _Miss Saigon_ came from the West End, and before that, _Les Miserables_ started in Paris and took the West End by storm before making it to Broadway."

Carson suddenly realized they were excluding Ronon from the conversation. "With so many people on Earth and most of them not knowing about life elsewhere, we tend to think of ourselves by nationality rather than planet." He pointed to the Scottish flag on the shoulder of this uniform and the Japanese flag on Kusanagi's. "That said, Americans dominate both this expedition and the world of musical theatre, which is probably why most really successful musicals ends up on Broadway in America."

"That is your planet's largest storytelling center?"

Carson sputtered, realizing how much they'd left out.

Kusanagi sat up straighter. "We don't present musicals with pillars, the way you do music stories. We paint scenery and build stage fixtures and props so people can act events out in a theatre. Traveling productions may bring much of this with them as they perform in different theatres or even outside."

#

"No part remains after the performance to remind audiences of what they saw?" Ronon didn't like the idea. Perhaps he had placed too much importance on the Earth musicals. If they barely reflected history and were so visually impermanent, he wondered how much impact they could have.

Then Kusanagi pulled out one the flat devices the Earth people seemed to use like books and notepaper and computers all in one. "Mostly I brought only audio recording of musicals for myself, and I do think there's a value to allowing many people a chance to perform the works. I have a Japanese-American uncle in America who discovered musicals by playing one of the kids in _South Pacific_ when he was little." She whispered as if telling him a secret, "The kids were supposed to be French-Polynesian but most audiences can't really tell." She tapped her fingers on the device and the screen changed over and over again. "Many musicals are recorded with both visual and sound, and some are actually made into movies. I can show you one of my favorite movie adaptations, _Les Miserables_. While it focuses on fictional characters and a relatively minor revolution in France, I think the parts of history that it shows and the general conditions portrayed are fairly accurate. If nothing else, to understand Earth people, you pretty much have to know about movies."

With a final tap she handed the flat device to Ronon. "I can't read your writing."

Kusanagi leaned in and read, "1815: Twenty-six years after the start of the French Revolution a king is once again on the throne of France."

Then an army of men on the screen began singing. Instead of a pillar, they seemed to have a real sky, ocean, and giant boat. It was either a bard's greatest dream or worst nightmare. A moment later the "movie" was showing almost large as life on the wall of the storytelling center.

Ronon's instincts said to run from the power of these descendants of the Ancestors. Instead, he calmed himself and sat back to watch his first movie.

#

Rodney had never been a fan of musicals, but he was easily caught up by the orchestration. He could visualize the lines for different instruments in his head. Then the realization struck that this American movie about French history that he'd never seen was being presented by a Japanese woman and a Scottish man as necessary to understanding Earth people. It was the first time Rodney thought of himself as an Earthling rather than a Canadian.

He turned his head to see if John's face betrayed any similar reaction only to find the man asleep sitting up. Rodney hadn't even registered that John was slumped against him, relaxed and heavy. They were here to keep watch, but he didn't want to wake John after all the man had been though since arriving in Atlantis. Instead, Rodney waited for a louder portion of the movie to shift around as well as he could to better support John. If the man's head ended up on Rodney's shoulder with his stupid hair tickling Rodney's neck, it wasn't so different from when they'd shared a tiny bed in Antarctica.

#

"Freeze! Hands up! Don't move!"

John woke up, heart pounding, ready to freeze or run—to find himself curled up against Rodney's shoulder.

Rodney had opted for freezing. Since they were still hidden behind an access grating, that seemed like a wise idea to John.

As his eyes focused through the grating, he saw over a dozen Marines taking position, guns drawn. Carson and Kusanagi were sitting in front of their Ancient facilitated movie screen, the movie frozen on a wedding scene. The scent of fish and ginger cookies still hinted at the meal before, but the food was packed away. Ronon was nowhere to be seen.

"Where are the other two life signs?" John couldn't see Ford but recognized him by voice.

"Over here, sir." That voice sounded to the right of their grating.

"Come out with your hands up," Ford shouted.

John wondered if Marines were supposed to say that or if it was something they all learned from movies and TV. He glanced at Rodney who shrugged before shifting forward to try to lift the grating. John shifted to push from his side, and they both crawled out together.

Ford met them with his gun still out and didn't let them up off their knees. "I think I can guess what Drs. Kusanagi and Beckett are up to. But I'd like an explanation for why you two are spying on their date and why any of you are outside the main tower without assignment or escort?"

It took John less than five seconds to recognize that if Rodney opened his mouth they were going to be in worse trouble. In that time, he also realized that no one had mentioned Ronon or a fifth life sign in the room. Doing his best to channel Colonel O'Neill he said, "Well, it wasn't like we could call you up to keep them safe, so we followed. And the movie was good even if our seating was kind of cramped."

"And how would you keep them safe?"

John tapped his radio and tilted his head with a smile. "We were going to call the moment we saw an actual threat."

Ford's frown turned into a sneer. "Now you're all in trouble for being outside the secured area."

#

"I can explain that." Once Carson got over the shock that they'd been spied upon, he considered lying on all their behalf. If he claimed that he hadn't realized this room was in a different tower because the basement where he'd been checking emergency supplies earlier in the day connected to both, the Marines would probably believe his sense of distance and direction was truly that bad. But lying wasn't his style and wouldn't serve the expedition in the long run. "First, I'll take full responsibility for everyone here. I was approached by Ronon about a cultural exchange. I asked about inviting you and Dr. Weir, but Ronon's traditions seem to require that someone paint a pillar in this room first." When it looked like Ford might interrupt, Carson put on his most fatherly demeanor, something he'd learned as a doctor to many young military men, and continued in the same calm voice. "Ronon has already painted three pillars, and he shared the story from one with us tonight as a sign of good faith. During our discussions about how Kusanagi might paint a pillar to illustrate one of the musicals recently circulating among our people, it came up that musicals on Earth are usually shared in a staged setting or movie. I was hoping that Ronon would accept a movie showing in place of painting a pillar so that we could move forward with diplomatic relations."

"Since when are we trying to establish diplomatic relations with Ronon?" Ford asked.

"I'd have to check the wording with Dr. Weir, but I believe establishing diplomatic relations and trade is listed as our top priority when encountering peaceful locals."

"Peaceful? He began by taking us all prisoner!"

"He began by spending three years as a caretaker for Atlantis," Carson said firmly. "The traps we encountered were defensive and all of his actions have been non-lethal. He even assisted me in surgery when one of your men was accidentally injured. Now he's come to us offering diplomatic relations through an exchange involving history and art. Perhaps you'd like to call our chief diplomat, Dr. Weir, out here to consult?"

"We are not calling Dr. Weir out of the tower to an unsecured room chosen by outside forces." Ford bristled as if offended by the suggestion. The tense way he stood with his men all around him broadcast the strain of his command.

Carson shrugged. It was time to let the military save face and win a point. "Understood. Would you permit Kusanagi or someone else with a tablet to record some images or video to help explain the diplomatic request?"

"Stackhouse, record location information," Ford ordered.

"Yes, sir," said the officer who had first located their hiding place, probably using the life signs detector John had given up earlier. John remembered him as one of the natural gene carriers and guessed that gave him an advantage with tech-related assignments.

It was only when Stackhouse stepped up to the nearest Ancient pillar and aimed his tablet to record that the true ramifications became clear. A spotlight on the ceiling shown onto an image at the base of the pillar beside what John now knew was the terminus line. A chorus began to sing in what must be Ancient, but thanks to Gate translation, they all understood. "Be careful those who would meddle and invent. The crimes of the creator weigh heavy on your hair." The picture showed a scorpion-like bug with a swollen red abdomen being studied by two robed Ancients looking through magnifying lenses.

While faces across the room showed various expressions of shock, John began to laugh. It seemed there was more to the storytelling center on Atlantis than even Ronon had known.

#

Ronon was startled to hear the voice of the Ancestor's bard fill the storytelling center. No one living had ever heard the language sung by a native speaker. No one could know how much the words and stories had drifted over time. If Ronon had possessed what the Earthlings called ATA, he could have learned every music story here and relearned the ones he'd thought he knew before. The way the Ancestors and the Earthlings could record their bards changed everything. For the first time, Ronon wondered if the ATA shot the Earthlings spoke about might work for a Satedan. Then the City of the Ancestors might share with him music stories and movies.

The bard's heart pounded and raced at the thought. It was good that he'd hidden at the first sound of steps on the stairs. He'd stayed close in case Carson or Kusanagi needed protection. And the city still seemed to be hiding him from their sensors. Unlike John and Rodney, he would not have knelt quietly with guns trained on him. Ronon was glad to see them led out of the room unrestrained, but he needed to establish diplomatic relations the way Carson had suggested.

He took off though hidden passages to seek out the best vantage point for their presentation to Weir.

#

After several minutes of show and tell by Ford and Stackhouse, Elizabeth Weir asked, "Did Ronon specify how long he expected it to take Dr. Kusanagi to paint one of the pillars?"

John copied Stackhouse and kept quiet and very still. He did not want to be put back in a cell.

Ford leaned forward with his elbows on the Ancient triangular conference room table. "Ma'am, I don't think any of you understand our security concerns."

Rodney snorted. "I understand that we need capacity to both cloak and shield the city if attacked. That's a security concern. I've spent hours figuring out how to do it, but our military commander refuses to let anyone through the Gate to look for a charged ZedPM."

Ford glared at the scientist. "We need to secure the city first, which I can't do if civilians won't obey orders or stay within a secured zone. Protecting the expedition from possible threats is a military mandate."

"What, protecting us from John and Ronon?" Rodney waved an arm toward John and would have continued, but Carson caught the flailing limb and took over. Kusanagi was doing something on her tablet, and John wondered why no one ever seemed to notice her.

"While anyone could be a possible threat, the facts so far suggest Atlantis is our best first line of defense." Carson sounded even more paternal when he spoke directly after Rodney, and John was starting to find his Scottish accent reassuring. "If the city is attacked, I want our strongest gene carrier in the command chair, and I'd value the support of a Pegasus native who knows the local players and has been maintaining and defending the city for years. From the story he shared tonight, Ronon comes from a planet that might have a ZedPM or invaluable scientific information to offer, depending on how extensive was the destruction by the Wraith."

"Do you believe Ronon would take us there?" Weir asked.

"I would like a chance to ask," Carson said.

"What would we have to offer in return?" Weir raised a finger above her tablet as if preparing to take notes.

"We could start with a truce and cultural exchange."

Weir nodded, and John was amused at how simple Carson made it sound.

Ford slapped a hand on the table. "That is a purely military decision."

"No," Weir said coldly, "This is a diplomatic mission under civilian leadership. If the one alien we've met so far and who has offered us no harm wants to speak to us under truce, I will offer that and whatever sort of cultural exchange I deem reasonable."

At that there was a knock from a door John thought led into a closet.

"Who's there?" Ford asked, already raising his gun.

"I come under truce." John and those who'd heard him sing and talk couldn't help but recognize Ronon's voice. For the others, it might or might not trigger less positive associations from their first day on Atlantis.

Weir seemed to have no problem. "Captain Ford, please lower your weapon. Our offer of truce has been accepted."

With that the door opened and Ronon stepped into the room. He looked a lot bigger close up, and John couldn't blame Ford for not holstering his lowered gun.

"Welcome Specialist Ronon Dex. I'm Dr. Elizabeth Weir, the leader of this expedition. Please join us at the table."

Ronon sat near the corner directly across from Ford and Stackhouse.

When Ronon didn't speak, Weir continued, "As you perhaps heard, we would be happy to paint one of the pillars you showed my people and we would be interested in visiting your home planet."

"Don't think it had any ZPMs, but I could show you the research archives." Then in a more formal tone he said, "I appreciated the showing of the movie _Les Miserables_ and look forward to further diplomatic relations."

"And what could we do for you?"

"Share more movies," he said to Weir. Then he fixed his gaze on Ford. "Stop hunting me."

"It's our military policy to keep track of persons of interest," Ford said tensely.

Ronon's eyes met John's for a moment and then Kusanagi's. The big man crossed his arms and nodded. "I'll consider it a training exercise." Without another word he stood and left, shutting the closet door behind him.

Ford turned to Stackhouse and hissed, "Is he still watching us?"

Stackhouse pulled out the detector he'd used to locate John and Rodney in the storytelling center. "He doesn't show up, but we only saw four dots before, sir."

"How?" Ford asked.

Rodney looked to John and then to Carson. "Can you ask the city to hide you from all life sign detectors?"

Carson sputtered, "I'm probably not the best—"

Stackhouse said, "I made my own dot disappear, sir."

"Ask it to show you Ronon," Ford ordered. He watched over Stackhouse's shoulder.

John was glad he hadn't been asked this time. It was better not to have to lie or refuse.

After a long moment, Ford glared at Rodney before tossing the detector across the table. "Get this fixed." Then he turned to Weir, "If he agreed to let us keep track of him, this is clearly not showing good faith."

Weir smiled with no sympathy. "When Ronon said he'd consider it a training exercise, I think he meant the training would be good for your troops."

#

Rodney followed John back to his room and right in the door. The room was as warm as it had been the night before.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"If I asked, you'd say you were fine and send me away. You're not fine, so I'm skipping the stupid bits." Rodney crossed his arms and stood, waiting.

John shook his head. "What's not fine? We're free. We didn't even get punished for leaving the tower."

"Right, so what's bothering you?" Rodney didn't have words for it, but John's whole body was tense. He'd been quiet in the meeting. He'd fallen asleep on Rodney before, in the vent. They weren't the sort of clues the genius was used to working with, but he knew they added up to something.

"I just need to sleep," John didn't meet Rodney's eyes as he said it, and Rodney recognized that kind of embarrassment.

"I could stay with you."

John looked at him blankly. Rodney didn't know what it meant or if he was about to get told off. Then John shrugged. "If you want."

John stepped into his bathroom. After a moment, Rodney left and went to his own room to wash up and change. He noticed there was a guard at the end of their hall again.

Once he was ready for bed, Rodney thought about opening the door between their rooms. With a soft hiss, the outline of the door appeared and then it opened.

#

The hissing sound caused John to jump from where he'd been sitting on his bed. If the seam opening up had been in any wall but the one connected to Rodney's room, he would have feared an attack. As it was, he pressed himself into a corner where he wouldn't be immediately visible through the opening.

Rodney stepped through. "I wasn't sure if you'd still be in the shower."

There was no way John would try taking a shower when he thought Rodney would be waiting. The night before had been too bizarre. He shook his head.

"Are you freaking out? I don't want you to freak out." Rodney motioned with his arms and began to bluster in a way John found strangely calming. "We shared a bed in Antarctica, and you seem to be cold a lot. I don't know why we have a secret door like this, but I don't think it would let me in if you didn't want me here. That said, I have a much better bed, and slightly bigger. If you want to heat my room to whatever temperature you like, we could both sleep over there. Just tell me what you want, because I'm not very good at picking up on hints about this stuff."

John knew he should say something, but nothing he'd ever observed prepared him for discussions like this. He wasn't even sure what he wanted. Except he'd changed into pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt thinking he'd get to sleep with Rodney. For whatever reason, human or alien, he wanted to sleep with Rodney again. A glance through the new doorway showed Rodney's special mattress was bigger than John's tiny Ancient bed. "We can sleep in your room if you want."

Rodney walked back and John followed him. With the door open, the temperature was already equalizing between the two small rooms. Rodney's bed hadn't really been made up from the night before. It looked incredibly inviting when Rodney lay down and held the rumpled covers up for John.

John climbed in and let the lights dim to almost pitch black. Rodney started arranging their bodies the way he had in Antarctica, so he was pressed up along John's right side. The heat and soft pressure started John shivering.

"Think the heat to whatever you want," Rodney said.

"This is good."

"Then why are you shivering?"

"I don't know. My body is weird. I never know why it does anything." John shivered harder.

"All bodies are weird, but you're supposed to figure out your own at least."

John squirmed in frustration. "How? It didn't come with instructions."

"You chose a temperature for your room."

"Atlantis chose. Maybe the city knows what I want more than I do."

"Is that what happened in the shower?"

John froze not knowing what to say about that.

More gently than John had ever heard him say anything, Rodney asked, "John, did something traumatize you in the shower?"

With a huff John said, "I don't think it was trauma. More like the opposite. For a little while nothing hurt."

"But now it does?" Rodney asked.

John shrugged, knowing Rodney would feel the response. He was surprised when Rodney pushed up on an elbow and raised the lights to a dim glow. "John, do you hurt somewhere?"

The question brought John's attention back to all the little hurts. "Just the usual."

"I don't know what that means." The scientist's forehead wrinkled in concentration. "Can you tell me the way you'd explain problems in the lab?"

John thought of his body as if it was a machine and he was studying an array of sensors. "The blue skin feels too tight, itchy or prickly, especially when it's cold or if it's been cold or dry lately and the skin thickens up and forms scales. My left arm has a shooting pain from above the shoulder to the palm of my hand, which is common, especially when I lay down at night. That side of my neck pretty much always hurts, and I had to learn to hold my head straight." John expected Rodney to interrupt and ask questions, but the scientist only nodded. "Sometimes I have shooting pains down my left leg from hip to foot. They can make my leg twitch. Right now that's just a pulling or pinching sensation at the joints and heel. My head hurts a little whenever I lie down. It can hurt a lot sometimes if I stand up fast. My eyes sting by the end of the day, especially if I'm out in bright sunlight a lot. My ears hurt when it's noisy and then feel sort of stopped up at night. Right now I can feel every breath I take, but it doesn't exactly hurt. I'm just too aware of it."

Rodney waited before asking, "Am I making any of that worse?"

John half smiled. "I think you make it better. Since Antarctica I realized being warm definitely makes things better. My blue skin seems to thin and become more flexible if I'm warm more often."

"How did you not know that until Antarctica?" Rodney sounded annoyed.

"I never really thought about it. I knew I hated being cold, but the costumes had to stay skimpy anyway so people could see how bug-like I was. I took it for granted. I moved around more to keep warm. That seemed to stop the worst of the pains. Some of them I thought were growing pains. I couldn't predict them. But curling up with my head under the covers at night seemed to help. I had no idea about hot showers until last night. Maybe the bug part of me evolved in hot springs or maybe the opposite. It was like my whole system went haywire."

"Haywire good?"

Struggling to find the words John said, "It was on the edge of good and bad. Atlantis kept it there. Maybe my mind controlled the shower, but it felt like I was out of control, like my body was reacting without me."

"Has that ever happened before?"

John didn't know if he should answer, but if he didn't tell Rodney, he didn't think he could tell anyone. He hoped Rodney would let him stay. "I used to have these weird attractions."

"Like sexual attractions?"

"I guess so. I'd get hard at the scent of popcorn, or for a while it was pizza. Or for no reason at all. In my Bug Boy costume, there was no way to hide except to curl up in my hammock. But I wasn't supposed to do that for more than a minute or two if there were people watching. After a while, I found ways to take care of it in private so it didn't happen so randomly anymore."

"That's just adolescence, John." Rodney lay back down with his head on John's shoulder. "Boys bodies react inappropriately for a few years."

John wished it was that simple. "But I couldn’t tell what it was reacting to. What if it was bug pheromones or something?" He couldn't speak his fear about whether he'd react inappropriately to the Wraith. He didn't think he could say that aloud to anyone.

"I don't think you're related to bugs. You heard what Jackson said about McKenzie being a mutant. Even if the encounter with the Wraith Queen triggered him somehow, that doesn't mean you're part Wraith or would react to any different kind of pheromones."

Rodney's casual assessment amazed John. "But we don't really know. Carson said there weren't any samples of Wraith DNA. He doesn't know what I am."

"Are you worried you'll get horny if we find an Ancient?"

John hadn't worried about that, but the moment Rodney suggested it he was terrified. What if they could read him mentally like when Atlantis seemed to control his shower. What if an Ancient could highjack his body that way with just a thought?

Suddenly Rodney's face was right above him and his hand was on the side of his neck. "Okay, John, listen to me. Your breathing and pulse are way too fast. I don't know if you get panic attacks, but I've had them. They're no fun. Now breathe with me, in…out…in…out…"

John breathed with Rodney and focused on the warmth of Rodney's body all along his side. If John's cock twitched and filled a bit at that, it was a lot less freaky than what he had been imagining a moment before.

As John's lungs filled and he started to relax, Rodney said, "Look, you should probably talk to Carson about all of this. I think you've assumed all sorts of things about your body were related to whatever is different about you. Finding one cause might seem to make sense with Occam's razor and all that, but most of it's probably a lot more human than you realize. Imagine if you were me and had all the pains and unexpected reactions you just described. You'd attribute some of it to having messed up your back, the pains in your arms and legs could be related to nerves pinching. You'd probably ask a doctor about the headaches and what might be a rash. Getting aroused for no reason, I really think is just a teenage guy thing. I mean, you were a teenager until a few months ago, and anyway, it sounds like you got that under control faster than most teenagers do. It also sounds like you've been putting up with stuff that hurts all the time and with being cold. Whatever Carson may believe about your genetics, I'm pretty sure he'd say you shouldn't put up with being in pain all or most of the time. Will you talk to him about it?"

Rodney was stroking his neck. John wasn't sure when in that speech Rodney had started stoking his neck, and on the blue side nonetheless. It felt amazing.

John struggled to keep his breathing normal and not to swallow too often. He certainly didn't want to talk to Carson about the sex stuff. As far as being in pain, he couldn't remember ever questioning that. In some ways, he hadn't realized he was in pain all the time until he wasn't for a few minutes in the shower last night. Never before had he thought that it could all stop. Never had he considered it as anything but part of his stupid partially blue freakish body.

"I keep saying the wrong things, don't I?" Rodney sounded so small and far away, not like Rodney at all. His hand stopped petting John's neck. "Carson would be so much better at this. I don't even know what you want from me. I don't want to take advantage. I don't want you to hurt. I want so much to fix it but you keep freezing up, and maybe I'm making things worse. But if you don't talk to Carson and I'm the only one you've told—I am the only one you've told, aren't I?—Then what if you get hurt or die because of some condition you didn't have treated. You want to go up in the spaceships you found, but what if something about that hurts you? There could be gee forces or anti-grav or maybe it's cold when they fly through space. Tell me you'll talk to Carson about anything that hurts you, and I promise I'll do anything I can to let you fly your Puddle Jumpers as soon as Carson says it's okay."

John thought about the woman who died from the exploding tumor, Dr. Hewston. He didn't think the Ancients would leave something in their flying machines that would kill anyone, but he had learned about dangerous nanites left behind that might have killed everyone who wasn't Ancient or Wraith. Any of them could die any day. Rodney walked into the energy creature not knowing if his personal shield could protect him. John brought Carson the bomb containment unit and then wheeled it away without really thinking about the chance he'd die. "It would be stupid for you to blame yourself in any way if I died from a Jumper flight or anything else around here, but I understand why you think I should talk to Carson, so I'll try."

"Thank you." Rodney pressed his face between John's shoulder and his neck. His breath across John's collar bone almost tickled. John's body reacted to that and Rodney's warmth beside him almost the way he'd reacted to the shower adjustments the day before. His skin prickled and felt oversensitized to every outside touch. Rodney's leg along his sent pulses like electricity up his thigh to his groin. His erection and all the blue skin Rodney wasn't touching reacted to the sheets and bedding as if they were a caress or maybe something tickling. It wasn't quite on the edge of pain or overstimulation the way the constantly adjusting shower spray had been. But being with Rodney, having another person touching him and possibly triggering this reaction, was terrifying and wonderful in equal measures.

Rodney's arm was stretched across John's chest, shifting as Rodney snuggled in closer. It felt amazing, especially where the warmth and pressure reached skin that had been cold and only lightly brushed by sheets and pajamas before. But all the light pressure from cloth across John's chest and arms shifted as well. He could feel both his nipples harden and knew his cock would be tenting the bedding by now.

John could smell his own arousal, but as far as he could tell, most normal people had terrible senses of smell. He could only assume Rodney was unaware as the man's breathing seemed to be slowing.

Gradually, John thought the lights lower. Rodney was falling asleep pressed against John, breathing down his neck. Rodney's hair tickled John's chin and ear. His friend didn't smell aroused, but he smelled familiar and right.

It was frustrating, because John was pretty sure he could jerk himself off in under a minute and then sleep like the dead for hours. But he didn't want this feeling to end, and part of him didn't want to risk whatever reaction Rodney might have if he knew. John's arousal might keep him awake, but at least he was awake feeling good. All of the usual pains were at least partly overwritten by that edgy, hypersensitive skin and by nerve reactions that John decided were much more pleasure than pain, at least this time. His body seemed to hum with it.

His breathing fell in time with Rodney's even as their heart rates drifted in different directions. With every breath he felt tiny shifts in air currents, blankets, and clothing. He ordered his body not to overreact. If his previous issues had been teenage boy reactions, then he hoped he was too old now to come in his sleep or from just the press of bedding on his cock.

After a while, he didn't feel like he was building up to orgasm. He was still more than half hard and completely aware of every touch across his body. There was no way he could sleep yet, but he was drifting. Maybe he was dozing or discovering some strange form of meditation. Everything felt good, amazing, like it would reprogram his brain for something better. The parts of him that were exhausted from the control chair or panicked by the earlier conversation were shutting down. Those parts seemed to sleep while the rest of him enjoyed sharing a bed with Rodney again.

#

Ronon stood where anyone could see him in the hallway outside Kusanagi's room. He knocked and waited. She opened the door with a look of surprise and then a smile.

"Good morning, Ronon."

It sounded like a ritual greeting, but he didn't know if the proper response was agreement or repetition. He kept it simple. "Yes."

"Would you like to come in?"

"No." Ronon had made a point of allowing one of the military patrols to spot him on the way to the scientist's quarters. After listening to Ford and Weir speak with Sumner earlier, he knew exactly what instructions had been given with regard to watching him, target one. He was waiting to see how long any military took to find him again and call in his location.

"Would you like my help with something?"

"I would like to see the rest of _Les Miserables_."

"Oh!" Kusanagi smiled big enough that the expression balanced her large eyeglasses, changing her face completely. "If you don't mind watching on a small screen, I planned to lend you a tablet with that movie and more. There is an anthropologist who wants to meet with you, and she shared her entire film library, including many musicals with me."

Kusanagi ducked inside her room and came back with what he'd learned was called a tablet and its charging cord. "You press here to turn it on and then touch any of these icons to start a movie. I'm moving _Les Miserables_ to the top." She dragged her finger across the screen and a picture of a girl and a flag followed. "You can move them all like that as well. If this bar is mostly empty or turns red, you need to plug it in." She gestured with the cord. "All the labs and the mess hall have charging stations for these cords."

Ronon had seen the charging stations. He also saw a military patrol spot him and then look again when Kusanagi handed him the device. "Thank you," he said as a Marine called in his location.

"Would you be willing to meet with her? The anthropologist who brought the movies?" Kusanagi asked.

"Yes. When?"

"I could bring her to the mess hall at lunch today. Would that work?"

"Yes." He nodded and Kusanagi nodded back. He'd noticed she finished a lot of interactions with nodding.

With a quick turn, he headed down the hall in the direction away from the military patrol that was still watching him. After turning two corners, he ducked into a ground level service shaft. He pulled a groundnut from his pocket and left it inside the access to reward whoever found it first.

He used the most direct service ladder to reach the level with the infirmary. After listening for a lull in foot traffic, he popped out into the hall where John had picked up the bomb disposal unit. Just the thought of it made Ronon anxious to see Carson alive and healthy.

He stepped into the infirmary and waited for Carson to look up from a console he was tapping at and reading. "Hello, Ronon."

"Hello, Carson." Ronon had heard that greeting frequently, but this was the first time he'd replied to it himself.

He stepped forward and set three groundnuts in front of Carson.

"Why, thank you. What are those for?"

"To eat." When Carson looked confused, Ronon added, "You can ask the woman who now runs the greenhouse if you want to know more about nutrients."

Carson raised an eyebrow but said, "Thank you. Is there something I should give you in return?"

"They are freely given. I do have a question."

"What's that?"

"Would the ATA shot let me hear the Ancient music stories and light up the pillars?"

Carson bit his lip. Ronon wondered if his question was inappropriate somehow. Then Carson said, "The ATA shot does not work for everyone, and I would need to test your blood first to make sure it was safe to even try on you. I should also discuss this with Ford and Weir, although I am in favor of giving you the shot if you want it and if it seems medically safe for you."

Ronon enjoyed Carson's expression of care for him, even if it was only the care a healer might show for anyone. "I understand. What would I put blood in for you to test?" When he pulled out one of his smallest knives, Carson waved it away.

"Please, I need to use a needle and keep everything very clean or my tests might not be valid."

Ronon put his knife away. "Tell me what to do."

Carson had him sit down and hold out an arm. There was a long procedure with a strap around his arm and two different cleanings. Then Carson took a very small amount of blood into a tube connected to a hollow needle. He stuck on a round "band aid" to keep the tiny puncture wound clean. It was very endearing.

No military personnel spotted Ronon throughout the entire process. He thought patrols should pass by the infirmary more often, but he knew there were very few of them and they relied on sensors too often. He hoped to eventually train them in surveillance and tracking without their native technology or that of the Ancients.

Carson turned back from where he put the tube of blood and the needle to say, "Do you mind if I look at other markers in your blood to see how it might be different from ours or if there is anything that might impact your health? The Gate seems to have protocols to protect travelers from most disease risks other than parasites, but I'd like to check any antibodies you have against my Ancient and Earth records for variant strains."

"I trust you do not intend to harm me with what you learn as a healer."

Carson tilted his head. "I am both a healer and a researcher, but I promise I have no intention to cause you harm or to release information to anyone else."

"Good. Did you want to see the rest of _Les Miserables_?" Ronon held up the tablet as a woman in a military uniform finally spotted him and called in his location.

Carson smiled a tiny bit, but it changed his entire expression. "Maybe later, when I'm off work?"

"I could meet you for dinner in the mess hall," Ronon offered.

"That would be lovely, although we might need to go somewhere quieter to finish the movie."

"I would like that." The way Ronon said it would be understood as an offer of sex or companionship by people from many worlds. He was unsure if Carson did not understand or only pretended not to.

#

Carson watched helplessly as Ronon swaggered out of the infirmary. The man was gorgeous and clearly too young for him, but it was hard to deny his attraction. What was more, he felt a connection to Ronon as an equal, not in the fatherly way he reacted to half the people with the expedition. While the people they'd chosen were only slightly younger than Carson on average, there was something about overseeing all the scientists and trying to keep the peace with Ford and Weir that made the doctor feel older than his years. Ronon treated him differently than anyone else, and there was something about the Satedan's manner that made him seem mature and reliable in ways most of the expedition members did not.

As if to provide contrast, Rodney came barreling into the infirmary speaking before he could even see whether Carson was busy and certainly without waiting for a greeting. "Apparently, John practices his own special brand of idiocy. He's been dealing with chronic pain all this time and never thought to mention it to anyone."

"Rodney…" John all but whined as he followed behind.

Carson looked around to see if he should take the consultation someplace more private, but even Marie had made herself scarce during Ronon's visit. The infirmary was empty except for the three of them. "Hop up on one of these beds, John. I'm glad you've come to talk to me. If you'd like, I'd be happy to send Rodney away to maintain your privacy."

Rodney opened his mouth to protest, but John help up his hand and spoke faster, "Don't worry about it. I'm sure I'd end up telling him anyway."

The genius smiled as if it was a compliment.

Carson said firmly, "I reserve the right to send him away myself if he interrupts too much."

John laughed nervously as he seated himself on the edge of an exam bed. "I didn't say anything before because I assumed any problems came with whatever made me blue." As Rodney pushed in closer and prepared to speak John said, "But Rodney convinced me you might have ways to help. It turns out keeping warm already makes the blue skin hurt less. I still have shooting pains down my left arm almost every night and sometimes in my left leg. My neck is always sore on that side, and I had to learn not to tilt my head that way to relieve it, because that makes it worse in the long run. I get headaches when I lie down or sometimes when I stand up fast. I think that about covers it."

"Eyes and ears," Rodney said behind his hand and then pretended to clear his throat.

"My eyes may feel sore and my ears stopped up by evening, and I may be oversensitive to bright light and loud noise. Think that's enough to start with?" John's false bravado reminded Carson of the show he put on that first day in Carson's living room in Colorado. It didn't surprise Carson at all that John had never mentioned his problems to a doctor before, and he wanted very much to make the effort worthwhile for the young man.

"That was a very fine self-report. If you could take your shirt off, I'd like to check a few things for myself and take a new set of readings with at least my handheld scanner."

John was a model patient, not even tensing after the first time Carson touched him. The doctor explained the biological lock Kusanagi had taught him to secure his Ancient hand scanner. Together, he and John and Rodney figured out how to lock results from the large scanner into the private file Carson had set up and to assure no trace was left in other systems.

Rodney did a surprisingly good job of staying quiet as he started applying what they'd found to other systems.

"I'd like to try one last thing before you put your shirt on, if you don't mind," Carson said as he searched out two different sample sized tubes.

"Okay," John shrugged, sounding more relaxed than he had through most of the exam.

Carson held up the tubes. "I want to try rubbing each of these onto one shoulder and then reverse them to test lower down your back. One's a hypoallergenic therapeutic massage oil and the other is a cream used to treat psoriasis and other skin conditions. If either the moisturizing or the massage seem to help, we can experiment with that over a few days before considering more extreme treatment options. "At John's nod, Carson said, "Go ahead and lay down on your front, head close to the top of the bed."

Working from above, Carson rubbed the oil into the blue side of John's neck and shoulder while keeping his motions as identical as possible with the cream on the other side. The cream provided much higher friction, but the muscles on that side were less tense and knotted, so it worked fairly well. With only basic training in massage, Carson worked until the muscles were as relaxed as he could get them. As Rodney watched every move with intense focus, Carson suspected the scientist would take care of whatever massage therapy John needed going forward.

"Stay there, John. I'm going to move to your side where I can reach a little lower on your back."

A muffled "Um-hmm" was all the response John offered.

The switch in positions meant Carson could use the same hand for each treatment and end up with cream on the blue side this time. While there was a patch of blue around John's right elbow, there was no place else where blue even reached the centerline of John's body. The muscles on his back were not noticeably more tense on the blue side, but it was harder to work the cream into the blue skin.

The Ancient scanner had found no inflammation or damaged disks that might explain the shooting plain John had described in his arms or legs. In fact, the scan reported John was one hundred percent healthy structurally, which seemed better than should be expected with his neglected, freak show past. There were some discrepancies in blood chemistry and nutrients that Carson would research later. But from basic immunological data and what he'd seen when John first arrived on his doorstep, Carson suspected some of John's differences might convey advantages in healing and possibly improve his senses like hearing and vision.

When he finished working with John's back the young man seemed half asleep. "Feel free to stay there and rest as long as you'd like. If you can come back before dinner to let me check for any skin reactions, I can update you on any other findings at that time."

John blinked his eyes open and said, "Thanks, Carson. My back feels better on both sides already."

As John pulled his shirt on with some care, Rodney asked in what was a relatively quiet voice for him, "Do you have any books or files on massage therapy or whatever might help John?"

"I'll see what I come across as I research a few other alternatives."

"Great, and I mean, I'd like to know in general, too." Carson smiled as Rodney hurried back to John.

#

Ronon stood at the front of the dining hall at lunchtime. Three different members of Ford's military looked very excited to report his location. Ronon glared at them. None of them had even found the nut he left where he'd entered the access tunnel.

Kusanagi showed up with a very tall, very dark skinned woman, and Ronon couldn't help thinking back to their talk about Earthlings and prejudices based on skin color. He wondered if there were also prejudices based on height.

"Specialist Ronon Dex," Kusanagi began, "I'd like to introduce Dr. Fiona Howard."

"Please call me Fiona. I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Please call me Ronon, and thank you for the movies."

She smiled, and Ronon thought he'd mastered the introduction ritual. "Shall we get some lunch and then talk out on the patio?"

They walked down the line to collect their food. In addition to the mostly soft foods they'd brought from Earth, there were greens and vine fruits from the greenhouse. Kusanagi excused herself at the end of the counter to sit at a table inside. Ronon followed Fiona to one of the farthest tables outside. When they sat, the anthropologist asked as she set out her tablet, "Do you mind if I record our conversation?"

"Can you show me how to record it, too?" Ronon pulled his tablet out of his coat.

Fiona smiled again and let him follow along as she selected a few options on the screen until both tablets were recording. When she asked Ronon to let her know if anything she asked about didn't make sense or might cause offense, he asked her to do the same. When she started to ask questions, Ronon answered each and then asked a question back.

When she asked about his hairstyle he said, "It shows that I have maintained my health and fitness while fighting and traveling. And yours?" Her hair was cut very short on one side and rose like a sculpture of a wave along the other. "It might suggest that I am artistic or willing to challenge traditional ideas about how women wear their hair or the way hairstyles were traditionally symmetrical on both sides. It probably also shows that I put a certain amount of effort into my appearance."

By the time she asked about music, they had both finished eating, and Ronon gave a detailed explanation about the role of bards and musicians in Satedan society. Fiona had already seen the movie recorded by the Marine who triggered the Ancient pillar the night before. Ronon sang a part of his own composition for her and then parts from a couple others to illustrate specific points. In return she sang songs in two language for him and transferred examples of musical styles—"from opera to hip hop" as she put it—onto his tablet.

By the end of the discussion, they both needed to take their tablets to the charging station in the now mostly empty mess hall. That was when Ronon questioned her about dating and courting rituals among Earthlings. She described them as diverse, but most of what she mentioned seemed similar to societies he knew about. The strangest part was the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" rule that meant members of the United States—a flag he already knew—military weren't supposed to admit to having sex with people of the same sex. It turned out to be another area that inspired a lot of prejudice on Earth, but Fiona didn't think most of the Earthlings who'd come to Atlantis were prejudiced in that way. Ronon wasn't sure how much he could trust her assessments. She smiled more than anyone he'd ever met.

#

Sitting down with his extra serving of fish, John tried to guess what the MRE part of his dinner contained. Definitely some kind of beans—he had decided it was meant to be chili when Rodney plopped down across from him followed by Zelenka.

"You're out of the infirmary fast. Does that mean everything is okay?" Rodney asked before shoving what was probably cornbread into his mouth.

John glanced at Zelenka, who shrugged and peered into his main course about the way John had. "Carson gave me some oil, taught me some isometric exercises, and suggested I eat more fish and get more sunlight. And he specifically said I was at no greater risk than any other ATA carrier if flying a Jumper."

"Great," Rodney said with his mouth full. "We got permission to go out tomorrow. Zelenka invited himself along since he spent all day today checking out your Puddle Jumpers. He's going up in Jumper two with one of the Marines with the natural gene."

"They have numbers?" John asked.

"More the Ancient version of ordinal numbers: first, second..." Zelenka waved a hand as if it didn't matter before taking another bite of his chili. "Very interesting design, newer than Atlantis but fewer failsafes."

"That is not reassuring given how many lethal traps we've already found here," John said.

"Is not a scientist's job to reassure. See you in the morning." With that Zelenka cleared his tray.

"I looked over all his research. We'll be fine." Rodney twirled his fork in a circle before scraping up the last bites of his dinner. "I also read everything on massage that Carson found. I'm ready to try it if you want help tonight."

John didn't know what to say to that, but it wasn't like he could massage his own back. "Um, I'll need to shower and do my new exercises first. Maybe give me an hour?"

"Sure, come through to my room when you're ready."

#

By the time John opened the door between their rooms, Rodney had straightened the bed, laid two towels over it, and redesigned two back up energy systems to recharge his MAP device or possibly the original ZPMs if he could solve how that was done.

As the door hissed open John came through in his usual sweats and long-sleeved sleep shirt. Rodney was wearing boxers and a tee shirts, since his room now seemed set to the same temperature as John's. "Did you bring the oil? I got extra towels."

John handed over the oil and pulled off his shirt before moving to lay down on the towels.

"I assume I'm supposed to rub oil into all your skin, or at least all the blue bits, so you might as well lose the pants."

John sat facing the wall to remove his sweat pants before carefully lying back down. Even Rodney could tell the man was nervous.

"Is there a problem? I mean, I studied and prepared for this. And you know I'm a genius. And good with my hands. And you've shared a bed with me. And I thought you'd be okay with this—"

John interrupted, "Rodney, calm down. I appreciate your help. I'm sure I'd rather try this with you than with anyone else."

Rodney smiled and hummed to himself. He like the sound of John wanting to try with him. He'd like it if John wanted to try other things with him as well, but it had never seemed right to ask before. Now John was laid out in front of him like a perfect model of a human. He was a bit skinnier than the sketches in the massage instructions, but it made all his bones and muscles easy to find. "If you can tell me on a scale of zero to ten how well each move is working, then I should be able to improve faster."

John turned his head to stare at Rodney from one eye. The lights lowered, and Rodney assumed that was John's way of saying the room was too bright. "Other than my neck and shoulders, I couldn't tell if what Carson did really helped. But the oil made my skin stop itching and prickling, so if you can get the parts that are hard to reach, I can do the rest."

"Don't be ridiculous. I studied to do a whole-body massage. You have to let me try at least a few times to see if it helps. Besides, people are supposed to enjoy this stuff."

"What if I'm not like other people?"

"Not this again. Carson said you were structurally perfectly human. Perfect, you get that? If you have sore bits or ticklish places or don't feel comfortable with some kinds of touch, tell me that's a zero and I'll try something else. Now do you want a massage from the resident genius or not?"

John smiled and closed his eyes. "How could I say 'no' to that?"

Rodney knew that quite a few people had said 'no' to things that involved Rodney touching them. While Rodney had questioned their reasoning at the time, now he was glad that John was letting him try.

He started with John's shoulders and neck, adjusting from what Carson had done based on his reading and that he was working from John's side, since there wasn't enough room between John's head and the wall. "Zero to ten?"

"How would I know what ten is?" John asked without opening his eyes.

"Assume ten is the best that Carson did. Then you can adjust the range on this scale as needed."

"You just want to score eleven on a ten-point scale."

"Obviously, it won't be a ten-point scale anymore if I score eleven. Now give me a number."

"Nine."

Rodney felt like he'd been slapped in the chest, not hard, but it hurt. "What did Carson do that was better?"

"I don't know. Maybe it got better as I relaxed."

"Then relax."

He could feel John tense under his hands instead. "Probably easier if we're not arguing about each number."

Rodney could see John's point. There might be aspects of massage training that were left out of his reading, and no one had ever described Rodney as a relaxing person to be around. He dug his oily thumbs into the part of John's neck that had tensed up.

"Oh, that's a ten," John sighed with his face half buried in a towel.

Rodney did it again and was pleased to hear another little sigh. After that he worked through everything else he'd read about necks and shoulders. When something got a high score or a pleased sigh, Rodney remembered and came back to it at some later point. When he earned his first eleven working the seam of blue and white skins between John's shoulder blade and spine, Rodney started to form a theory. As he worked his way down John's back, he'd rub the oil into an area lightly and then run his thumbs more firmly along the edge of the blue skin and the bilaterally symmetric area on the other side. John gave him elevens and twelves most times, and Rodney didn't think John even suspected his algorithm.

The only time John gave ones or twos was when Rodney skimmed too lightly on the sides of John's ribs, which evoked something between a tickle and a flinch reaction.

John tensed up when Rodney reached his hip bones, which Rodney had anticipated. "I can skip this part if you want, but the glutes are muscles too and connect to everything else. If you want me to only go as far as the blue skin reaches, I can work with that for massaging the muscle and moisturizing your skin."

"Whatever you want, just don't talk about 'moisturizing' me," John said with breathy sarcasm on the next to last word.

"Oh my god, you watch Dr. Who. How did I not know this about you?" Rodney worked John's ass as politely as he could and hoped the bit of conversational distraction would help.

"I've only seen the new stuff."

"We'll have to fix that. I'm sure someone here brought all the doctors."

John didn't volunteer any numbers for a while, and Rodney didn't ask until he was safely to John's knees. He was pretty sure he could guess most of the numbers himself by this point, based on John's breathing and the way he'd melt into or after certain touches. If Rodney was a little turned on after stroking John's ass and thighs, he didn't think anyone could be surprised, at least not anyone who'd ever seen John's ass and thighs.

He was a little surprised when John gave lots of elevens and twelves for places on his feet, from the arches to between the toes. John's toes were slim and almost hairless, and Rodney enjoyed running his fingers between then quite a bit.

Finally Rodney asked, "Are you ready to roll over?"

There was a long pause and then, "You really don't need to massage my front. I can put oil on the skin myself."

"You could tuck part of a towel over your groin if you're feeling shy."

"I don't think that's going to be enough," John seemed to half choke and half laugh.

"Don't take this the wrong way," and while Rodney had imagined saying it, he really hadn't expected to use the line, "but I'm not at all opposed to offering a happy ending or letting you do it yourself if you want."

John practically squealed. It was definitely not a dignified sound. "That sounds so dirty. I've never even heard that term before and it's just so casual it sounds filthy."

Rodney really didn't think it sounded that filthy. He suspected John's internet access might have come with some sort of child safety system, which did raise the question Rodney had been afraid to ask about. "You pretty much said before that you learned to jerk off so you'd have more control of your reactions when you were on display. So, have you ever let another person touch you that way? Do you sleep with me just for warmth and touch, or do you think you might want something more?"

John didn't exactly tense, but he went very still.

After a couple minutes Rodney said, "This probably wasn't a good time to discuss this. I want you to know I'm still perfectly happy to give you massages and share a bed. I'm trying not to be a jerk, but past experience says I probably am one anyway. I'll go take a walk, and you can do whatever you need to and end up in whatever bed you want."

Rodney stood and went to where he'd left his pants and shoes in the corner.

"Don't go," John said.

Rodney waited, not dressing, not moving. John's face was hidden by the towel and the dim lights. He wasn't hyperventilating and his body hadn't tensed up much, but any further understanding would require conversation.

"Can you give me a number between zero and twelve?"

"I"

"Did you say 'i'?"

John nodded into the towel.

Rodney shook his head even though John couldn't see him. "I'm going to guess you mean 'i' as in the imaginary number and not some bizarre reference to self-awareness."

John nodded.

"That suggests it's not on the same axis as good and bad, but…can you give me some idea of what you actually mean or what you want?"

John reached a hand out to find one end of the upper towel and with a surprisingly graceful—or not so surprising considering it was John—roll and twist, he was lying on his back with his groin and abdomen covered. Rodney could only guess that John's problem had somewhat resolved itself with the awkward turn in the conversation. "You can come back and sit on the bed if you want."

John looked flushed and like he'd just woken up. It could have been a turn on, but at the moment it mostly reassured Rodney that John was still comfortable with him. He went and sat carefully on the side of the bed so he wasn't crowding or touching his friend.

"Look, I'm not actually a virgin, but I don't think I was sexually attracted to the one person I had sex with." To John's credit, he met Rodney's eyes as he spoke. His pupils were huge in the dim light. "That person was female. I don't believe she meant any harm, but I think she snuck into my trailer mostly to see what sex with the Bug Boy would be like. It wasn't rape. Some people would probably call it hooking up. The orgasm felt fine, but I think I would have come for a robot clamp that touched me in anything resembling a sexual way at that point. I don't think I felt anything, even arousal for her. Afterward I felt kind of let down, kind of confused. I didn't really expect to have sex with anyone ever again, and I'm pretty sure Serano sent her away because no one else was supposed to enter my trailer. I never saw her again after that."

"Did you use protection?" Rodney asked.

John looked at him as if stunned that he asked that first, but he answered, "Yes. She brought condoms. And you know Carson checked us all for diseases."

"How long ago was that…" Rodney couldn't bring himself to call it a hook up or anything else polite.

"Four years, but she was the same age as me. That's really not the point."

Rodney felt like he was adrift. This wasn't one of the possibilities he'd prepared for or thought about ahead of time, and it wasn't the sort of thing his genius was useful for in the moment. "What is the point?"

John flinched and Rodney knew he'd said it wrong, but John answered anyway. "I'm twenty years old. I don't know if I'm sexually attracted to humans, let alone males or females. A few minutes ago I'm sure I could have reached a very pleasurable orgasm with a few strokes from either one of us, but it might have been a purely tactile reaction. I'm not sure I understand sex beyond that."

"Would you have felt bad afterward?" Rodney asked.

"I don't know. If you hated me I—"

"I couldn't hate you."

"Okay, but if you were creeped out or uncomfortable around me after something like that…"

Rodney thought about it. "So long as you weren't creeped out by me, I don't think I could ever be creeped out by you. Uncomfortable is relative, but I'm pretty sure we could get over it. If it helps, I've had sex, both bad and good, with both men and women. The only reason I haven't made a move on you before was that I couldn't tell what you wanted, and I didn't want to take advantage. I've never had a relationship that lasted more than two weeks, so I may be very bad at them. But if you want to try out whatever version of sex with a man, I won't be offended if you decide a tactile robot would do as much for you sexually. Really, the robot idea is starting to turn me on a bit, and I don't think I had that kink before." Rodney tried to pull his mind back from thinking about optimal surface materials for a helper robot that also gave hand jobs.

"Are people supposed to know what kinks they have before they try them?" John asked.

"You ask a lot more 'supposed to' questions than I do. I'm more than happy with you, however or whatever you are."

John smiled and rolled his eyes. "In that case, I guess you can rub oil anywhere on my body that you want to." John flipped back the towel covering his now half hard cock.

"Great, I think I'll start with your feet."

With an exasperated grumble John said, "You've got to be kidding."

When John didn't kick him, Rodney counted it as a win and started massaging John's blue foot. "I earned more off the scale scores with your feet than anywhere else."

"You said there were no off the scale scores and the scale would automatically adjust." John's eyes went half lidded as he said it, and Rodney didn't think a natural reaction to having his feet rubbed should look so sexy.

"I bet I can get you hard again without touching above your knees." John's cock twitched, and Rodney was pretty sure that was a reaction to his words and not his touch.

"But now I want you to touch above my knees," John half whined.

"Trust me, I want to run my fingertips up your thighs and massage your balls and that little spot behind." John's deep inhale said he knew about that spot and was definitely reacting to dirty talk as much as touch. Still, Rodney took his time with more oil and John's long and sinuously muscled calves.

#

John was not only hard but squirming by the time Rodney reached above his knees. He wasn't sure he'd ever been this turned on in his life. If he came without being touched, he wouldn't even be embarrassed. John wasn't sure he was capable of being embarrassed at this point. Rodney traced fingertips up John's thighs, and John found himself thrusting up into the air.

"Please, that feels so good."

Rodney dug into the large muscles in John's legs, and he relaxed for a moment before Rodney's hand glided to John's inner thighs and the crease between thighs and groin. "Oooooooh." John was moaning. He hoped the walls really were soundproof. He hadn't known anyone could make him feel like this. He no longer cared if it was just touch or what he felt for Rodney or the smell of Rodney's arousal that was between tangy and musky. There was a greater smell of Rodney that wrapped around John from above and from the bedding below. Rodney smelled like coffee and plastic and sweat, which definitely should not smell good the way it did. And his hands. Everyplace Rodney touched was like a live wire when he brushed lightly and a deep burn where his hands dug in.

Then he rolled John's balls and pressed behind with his oil slick fingers. John couldn’t help panting and pressing into the touch. He wanted something. Almost mindless, he wasn't even sure what. But he wanted. He needed.

Rodney's hand slipped easily through John's pubic hair. Then rough, well-oiled fingers wrapped around the base of his shaft. John pushed up and slipped down to find a hand cupping his balls and pushing just behind. He was howling. He was breathing in the smell of sex. His own semen leaking. Both of them aroused. Rodney's bed beneath him.

A slight squeeze and he pushed up, fell back, up, back. His hips were snapping hard, up and down, out of control. A slick thumb swiped across the head of his cock. Once more. Twice. John was coming so hard. Whatever Rodney was doing pulled more out of him until he was empty. Limp.

A corner of towel cleaned him up. Then strong hands rubbed oil all across John's chest and arms. Every touch approached the border of too much. John shivered but pushed into the touches. Wanting more. More pleasure soaked through John with every stroke.

He felt Rodney straddle his thigh. Wished Rodney would have straddled him before. Wondered if Rodney would straddle him next time.

"May I?" Rodney's voice was rough. He pressed hard and hot against John's thigh. A layer of Rodney's clothing between them. Rodney supported himself with hands that caressed John's shoulders even as he asked again, "Is it okay?"

"Yes, please, yes." And Rodney was rutting against him. Hands firm and warm on his quads and shoulders. John rolled into it from hips to chest. Rodney pumped against him, gasped against him, spasmed as he came.

He collapsed against John's side, leg across John's thigh, almost the way they'd slept so many times. So much closer.

#

Carson had half an hour between the end of his shift and dinner. He had hoped to stop by his quarters but was instead summoned to Weir's office. When he arrived, Ford was already there.

"Dr. Beckett, please join us." He took the seat beside Ford. "We hear that you're meeting with Ronon over dinner tonight?"

"Ronon wanted to finish watching the musical that was interrupted last night." Carson wasn't surprised by how fast gossip traveled in the small community and decided to turn the situation to his advantage if possible. "I believe that fits within the framework of cultural exchange you agreed to."

"I'm not opposed, but if you're going to serve as a diplomat, I thought we should discuss parameters." Weir reached out to reposition a wooden totem on her desk, and Carson wondered if it was a memento of her career as a diplomat on Earth.

"I have no desire to take on the role of diplomat and am quite happy with my positions as Chief Medical Officer and Head of Science."

"Nonetheless, Ronon has chosen you as his de facto diplomatic liaison." Weir leaned forward, and he thought she was trying to act supportive. It was a technique doctors used as well. "We don't know if that's because you were his first contact, a healer, or a high-ranking male, but you should not assume his motives are simple or known."

"Good advice in any interaction, I suppose." Carson carefully kept his tone pleasant.

"Please remember to refer him to me or ask for another leadership meeting if he makes any requests."

"As it happens, Ronon did make a request when he stopped by the infirmary today, and I told him I would have to run it by the two of you." Both Weir and Ford looked surprised. Weir then smiled indulgently while Ford's expression became more pinched. "Unfortunately, the request is moot. He'd asked if he could try the ATA shot so he could activate the pillars and hear the Ancient music stories. But a quick DNA test showed he's not a candidate, at least not for our current gene therapy."

"Well, that may be for the best," Weir said. "Perhaps we could offer to provide a gene carrier to play and record the various stories. Ronon could attend or view the recordings afterward."

Carson tried not to smile at his success. "I would be happy to watch one with him tonight and record it if that's acceptable."

Ford spoke up immediately, "I'll assign a military escort and recorder if anyone is going to that room."

Weir glanced at Ford for a moment as if to ask if she could leave the tower with that escort, but Ford was clearly not in a receptive mood for such negotiations. "I'll look forward to viewing any new recordings." She turned to Carson, "I trust you will call Captain Ford to arrange an escort if Ronon takes you up on your offer?"

#

Ronon had not planned to spend his evening with a military escort. Worse, he was honor bound not to try to evade the light skinned man and dark skinned woman, both with United States flags on their shoulders. The pair did inspire him with new questions about both race and gender in the US military that he'd like to ask Kusanagi or Fiona about later.

The explanation Carson had given about why he wouldn't try the ATA shot with Ronon included science that the warrior bard had never studied and could not verify. Satedan schooling barely explained DNA and genetic mutations. He could never have imagined the significance of a single point mutation until Carson explained it. For now, Ronon could only trust the healer's honesty and good intentions.

He was pleased that Carson had offered to watch an "Ancient" music story with him in the storytelling center after they finished _Les Miserables_ , even if it necessitated a military escort. At least he'd be able to play the recording as often as he liked on his tablet afterward.

Sitting on Carson's blanket with some groundnuts Ronon had brought, they settled in for the music story that began, "Be careful those who would meddle and invent. The crimes of the creator weigh heavy on your hair." A well-trained chorus sang the opening lines, and Ronon assumed they at least hinted at the main premise, as was common in older music stories.

The first lit picture showed an Ancient in concealing, beige clothing studying an Iratus bug. Its long tail was extended as if in a feeding frenzy. A high pitched female voice identified as Dr. Ay, the scientist, sang about creating the perfect chimera. Invention as nature's own way of leaping ahead of evolution and committees. The part about committees carried a tone of dark humor. When the chorus sang again of caution, it was clear they were the voice of some committee extolling the virtues of Ascension and the simplicity of leaving the future to their descendants.

A lower voice, possibly male, sang the next verse. When he called himself Dr. B, he explained all people as variable in an equation, with the letters translated from the Ancestor's alphabet. Ronon then realized he'd misinterpreted the first character's name. She had been simply Dr. A. Portraying both scientists as anonymous variables suited the cerebral style expected of an Ancient master work and confirmed they would not be glorified by their depiction in this music story. It surprised Ronon that he had never heard even a mention of this master work before.

Dr. B sang about seed humans with a difference in only one base pair—the basest of their descendants with a natural hold on power. It was a clear allusion to a single point mutation. Ronon would have barely understood before Carson's explanation. The picture that lit next showed the historic skyline of Sateda as viewed upon arrival through the Ring of the Ancestors. In the foreground a woman in old fashioned Satedan garb held the emblematic tools of a healer. Both tools were painted with the lights that showed full charge enlarged enough to sparkle like starbursts in the picture. The artist clearly intended them to draw the viewer's eye.

The woman's literal "hold on power" was used as a metaphor for holding the power of the Ancients' empire in the future, as the chorus expanded into the opening song. That song was a soaring weave of implications and melodic variations. But the Satedan character was only named as B's creature, despite being pictured as a healer and described more like a lab assistant. When the lighting flashed back to the first picture, A's future creatures were foreshadowed as hybrids of Iratus bugs, humans, and other intriguing genetic segments.

Ronon choked silently. He knew where this music story must end.

When the next picture lit, he saw Carson lean forward with special attention for a triangular console almost identical to the one that held the three nearly empty ZPMs on Atlantis. Dr. A espoused a grandiose plan to recharge ZPMs without risking the volatility of wormholes. She was designing her creatures to create a resonance pattern as they completed their own path to Ascension. Dr. B argued the need to include one of his creatures and someone from their own genetic line to assure stability with three points.

A humorous back and forth with the chorus again representing a committee explored the superiority of triangles and three points being essential to defining a plane. It ended with a triangular crystal being fitted in the center of the triangular ZPM console, as shown in the picture. It could be tuned to recharge three ZPMs in the moment when Dr. A's creatures Ascended, but only if the correct three hands touched the console at the same time. The committee doubted Dr. A's creatures would ever overcome their quarrelsome natures and choose to Ascend. Dr. B declared his creatures superior for seeking continued progress in all areas rather than focusing all their efforts on Ascension. He saw their place at the console as a chance to harness the waste energy if A's creatures ever managed to Ascend. Their ability to manage the charging process would be essential for further use after the device was activated. It was an oddly specific song, and Ronon did not doubt the bard who wrote it had strong reasons for ever line.

As the obligatory character arcs continued to develop through duets, Ronon wondered if all the Ancestors had seen his people as creatures, no more human than the Wraith. If so, he was glad to adopt the Earthlings use of "Ancient." He'd noticed he'd been oscillating already. Glancing at the Earthlings around him, Ronon saw their innocence. The Marines stared like toddlers at a shadow show. He'd have to train them better to avoid such distractions while on duty. Carson had his science face on, brows tense but mouth relaxed.

While Ronon could not question the mastery of the music story unfolding before him, he felt a stone growing in his gut. It was no wonder this work went unknown on Sateda. While his planet and people had not been named, the art left no question. The ability to charge their own tools and the over-emphasized indicator lights revealed the truth. His people were set to parallel the proto-Wraith from the first song. With all the misgivings of the chorus, Ronon did not expect a happy finale. Still, the clarity of voice, structure, and art pulled him in. He needed to learn, and to learn from, this music story.

#

Carson's mind was muddled with the emotion and drama of the Ancient music story. The thundering closing chorus resounded in his head after the room went silent.

The main characters, both geneticists, had died at the end. Their creatures were left to run amok.

In such a story, that was probably inevitable. Still, Carson couldn't help but empathize with "those who would meddle and invent."

Their people had fled an unending war with their own creations, the Wraith. Dr. A had given the Wraith advantage after advantage, teaching them advanced genetics and cloning techniques. She had even tried to guide them toward Ascension and coded their genetics to allow a different form of Ascension when her creatures expressed different needs. But in the end, the Wraith were driven by an insatiable hunger for human life force and galactic domination. Meanwhile, Dr. B had intentionally denied his experimental group—it hardly seemed right to call them creatures—any advanced knowledge of genetics. He didn't see them as worthy to continue where his people had failed. Still, he had convinced the council to leave behind a device, a last chance at access to all the Ancients' power and knowledge, but only if their descendent could work together with both sets of "creatures."

The Ancients' imperialist attitudes and the fact that they'd created the Wraith and then fled was too much to process. Carson knew from previous experience with traumatic news that he was numb for now. That paradigm shift—that betrayal—would take a few days to sink in.

The science involved had been advanced enough that Carson wanted to write the whole story off as fantasy. If it was real and the Wraith understood half of what they were given, he would never catch up. If they controlled massive cloning facilities, no human military could ever keep up. None of the physics or energy sources made sense to him, and he doubted even McKay's genius could adjust in one human lifetime. But the genetics fit all too well with pieces he'd already found. "Sergeant Stackhouse," he said as they were escorted back to the main tower, "Could you please send copies of tonight's recording to all senior staff, marked for review before our next meeting?"

"Yes, sir." The Marine adjusted controls on the recording device he carried and seemed happy enough with his assignment. Maybe he didn't believe the story they'd viewed was true, or maybe he was in denial for now as well.

"Could you send it to me, too?" Ronon asked.

"Yes, sir," Stackhouse answered immediately before asking, "Are you on the distribution list?"

"I have this." Ronon held up a tablet. Stackhouse took it and transferred the data without fuss.

The Marine following behind reported when they re-entered the secured area. Then the pair took their leave, as Carson walked back toward his quarters by habit.

Ronon followed silently.

As Carson thought his door open and turned to say goodnight, Ronon said, "An anthropologist explained to me today how your music stories use the word 'theme' for both the recurring melody and the underlying meaning that hold a music story together. In Satedan, we have a different word for that sort of melody, but our word for the underlying meaning is the same as that for the bard who shares the story. If you would share blankets with me tonight, I would be the theme that holds you together."

Carson was sure he'd missed something in Ronon's explanation, but the intensity of the words called out to him. What Weir had said about hidden motives and whether Ronon chose him due to his profession or coincidences of the first day was much too simplistic. Carson was as out of his depth in relating to Ronon as he was in understanding the Ancients' music story. He could never hope to maneuver like a diplomat in relation to this strangely collected warrior bard from another galaxy, and at the moment he didn't want to try. "Weir would tell me to send you politely away."

"Does your expedition leader have a say in who you share blankets with?"

With a shake of his head Carson motioned Ronon into his room. It was plain, barely looking lived in. As the doors closed and he mentally ordered them to lock anyone else out, Carson said, "I'm not exactly sure what you're offering."

"If there are rules I might violate, tell me." Ronon stood in a position like parade rest with his hands behind his back. "I was warned that the US military must not ask or tell about same sex relationships, but I did not think that applied to you or applied to sharing blankets."

Carson was not prepared to have this conversation while standing. He motioned Ronon to the only chair while he sat himself on the bed. "Please, have a seat. What you explained before, about the word 'theme' having a shared meaning in English and a differe-nt shared meaning in Satedan might be happening with what translates as 'share blankets' to me. I don't know if you mean for one of us to lend the other blankets, for us to both sit or sleep under the same blankets at the same time, or if some other sort of relationship is implied."

"I meant for us to both sleep under the same blankets, probably in your bed. After what we saw tonight, I hoped to comfort us both. From what the anthropologist told me today, the offer might be like another date. But my people did not have trouble with 'consent issues' as your people seem to. There is nothing you need fear from me with this."

Carson registered for the first time that Ronon was possibly more upset by what they'd seen than he was. Perhaps Ronon had understood more of the genetic implications for himself than Carson had expected. Or with his history—Carson realized he didn't know enough of the man's history to know which parts might be unsettling or trigger traumatic memories. "We're both upset. I see that. But what if a personal misunderstanding between you and me might jeopardize an alliance between you and the expedition?"

"Does Weir fear I will manipulate you through seduction?" Although he was sitting, Ronon still held his shoulders square and his head high, as he had when asking if there were rules he needed to know.

Carson couldn't help but giggle in a way probably not suited to a diplomat or the Head of Science. "I probably can't guess her thoughts much better than I can guess yours."

"Then I will try not to assume you speak or act for her or others of your people. Would you like me to stay with you tonight? I have no problem understanding that no means no and permission must be freely given for any form of touch at any time."

Carson wondered what Weir would say if she could hear Ronon's eloquence and insight in these personal negotiations. "What anthropologist have you been talking with?"

"Dr. Fiona Howard."

"Perhaps I should recommend her for future diplomatic missions." Carson looked at his meager single bed but knew he'd already accepted the idea. He wondered if knowing about Rodney and John since Antarctica made the offer sound more appealing and reasonable.

"She seems to ask and answer question well. And she can sing."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather share blankets with her? I'm not much of a singer."

#

That was the first time Ronon had heard Carson tease him. Flirt with him? The connotation wasn't exactly clear, but the implication was. "You don't have to sing for me or anything else."

"Well then, I guess you can stay. Make yourself comfortable." Carson stood and gathered a pair of simple pants and a shirt from beside his pillow. "I'll need a minute to prepare for bed." He ducked into the bathroom and started running water.

Ronon wasn't sure how long a minute was. He hoped he would also have time to clean himself sufficiently before sharing blankets with the object of his desire. To begin, he removed his boots and vest. He left his blaster and most of his hidden knives with them while stashing a couple to be accessible if needed at night.

#

After Ronon had his turn in the bathroom, Carson tried not to appear as awkward as he felt. If nothing else, the unexpected turn of events was distracting him from brooding over the music story they'd watched. Pulling back the covers on his bed, he asked, "Do you prefer the wall or the outside?"

"Outside."

Carson climbed in first and lay on his back as close to the wall as possible. He kept both arms above the covers.

Instead of lying down next to him, Ronon sat at the edge of the bed. "My people have"—Ronon stopped and closed his eyes for a long moment—"had a saying about touch. Zero points of contact offers nothing. One may tease. Two shows trust." Ronon reached out with both hands to hold both of Carson's own.

His hands were huge and warm. The warmth seemed to pour into Carson through their joined hands.

As a doctor, Carson had often taken a patient's hand to offer comfort. Still, he had never imagined hand holding like this. Perhaps stories of faith healing and a curative touch meant more than he had guessed. In that moment, Carson felt as though parts of him were healing that had been dead so long he'd forgotten they existed.

As Ronon moved his near hand up to Carson's shoulder, the large man lay down on his side, folding his lower arm along Carson's upper arm while the other hand rested with Carson's own above the blankets and Carson's stomach.

Carson thought the lights to very dim and said, "I'm not usually much of a cuddler, but this is nice."

"You can trust me. You don't have to be alone." He gave Carson's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"May I ask how much of this is for me and how much for you?" Carson whispered.

Without pause and in a quiet but clear voice Ronon asked back, "How much of your horror at the music story was for your people and how much for mine?"

That answered any questions Carson had about how much Ronon understood. If Ronon was upset about the Ancients running genetic experiments on his people, treating them like lab animals, and leaving them to fight the Ancients' other experimental subjects, he'd been hiding his own horror pretty well. "You also think it was about the Satedans?"

"The first picture of B's creature"—Ronon's rough voice as he said it made his disdain clear—"showed a Satedan healer in traditional clothing, in front of our most famous architecture, holding iconic tools that only certain Satedans could charge."

Carson remembered Ronon explaining the visual context that was part of a music story and how he'd had to guess at that when listening to _South Pacific_. Kusanagi would have been fascinated, but another part of what Ronon said demanded Carson's attention. "That's what you were offering on the first day when you said you could charge any devices I needed."

Ronon's thumb drew slow circles on the back of Carson's hand. Carson couldn't remember anything like the sensation and was thoroughly distracted as Ronon took his time before answering. "I have assisted a healer before in that way. Among my people, it was an honor to allow the healer to focus time and energy elsewhere. There were many tools I needed in my three years here that I could recharge, so I thought it might be needed for your work. But the city now charges the tools I used before and others that were dead to me."

Carson thought about the lights coming on during their walk to the infirmary and his belief that Ronon had been living in a dark and dead city. If they hadn't brought Rodney's MAP device, how much could Ronon have helped them charge? He thought of the Ancients' ATA gene and the single point mutation he had found in the same region that was unique to Ronon's blood sample. "What devices did you charge for your own use?"

"Power tools, automated gardening devices, the foraging robot. They are all much like what we used on Sateda. My blaster is from Sateda. It would not work long if taken from me." Ronon's hand stilled and gave a squeeze as he said it, whether as warning or reassurance, Carson wasn't sure.

"Did your people learn those technologies from the Ancients or was their part in the music story merely a new way to power your own technology?"

#

Ronon sighed. He was tired of words. He was tired in general. But for Carson, he would try to explain. "I have not had time to reconcile the stories I know with what I heard tonight. My people's stories imply the Ancestors, or Ancients as you call them, favored Sateda because we were advanced in both science and art. They tell about a time of intense collaboration during the war against the Wraith. That was when we built our first flying ships and blasters. But the Ancients appear in much older stories. It is hard to know their true influence. And perhaps we were only creatures to them."

Carson turned to wrap his arms around Ronon. "Is this okay?"

It was the best touch Ronon could clearly remember. He grieved for the memories of his family and lovers that had faded over time. He would never forget them. But the last few years would have been even worse if he'd fully remembered what human closeness offered. What he was missing. He breathed deeply the strange scents of the alien healer. Under the tree and plant smells oddly doused on hair and skin, he smelled a man already familiar to him. He trusted the hold of that man's arms around him and began to relax. "Very."

"This isn't like the stories I grew up with, and I have little in the way of personal experience. You'll have to tell me if you want something different. I might not be able to meet whatever expectations you have." The healer sounded innocent and uncertain even as his body settled naturally into an intimate embrace.

Ronon shamelessly tucked his face closer to Carson's neck. "Isn't that true for anyone, no matter how many stories they share?"

"I assumed your wisdom came from being a bard and learning so many stories." Carson's voice was slow and fond. "You seem too young to have that much relationship experience, especially if you haven't been around people for six years."

"My people didn't usually sleep alone the way yours do." Carson snorted as if he found that answer amusing. Ronon still couldn't understand why people arriving in an unknown place would all chose to sleep separately, leaving themselves vulnerable and alone for no reason. "I've had three lovers beyond a young person's fun. Two men and a woman. The last was a healer who was pregnant with our child when she died."

"I'm so sorry." Carson pulled in closer and stroked his back. It was exactly what a Satedan would have done, exactly what Melena would have done in Carson's place. A brief pain flared when Ronon pressed against the memory of his last lover. But she would have wanted this for him. Sometime in the last three peaceful years, he had settled his grief for her and his people as well as he knew how.

"Thank you," was all he said as he let Carson soothe him to sleep.

#

John arrived for his work shift in the greenhouse two hours early, wanting to make sure he was done in time for the promised Jumper test. Dr. Brown wasn't there yet, but John had felt guilty about being given extra fish when it was considered a rare and limited treat by most of the expedition. The greenhouse terminal was able to show him not only about aquaculture options, which they didn't have power for yet, but also current survey data on wild aquatic species. The fish Ronon had a single robot retrieving from a single basket trap each day were all on Atlantis' best choices list. The system claimed a hundred basket traps were available and could be set for such fish without damaging the local populations. The current robot could bring in ten reasonably located baskets and charging more robots would use only a little extra power.

Dr. Brown was very excited when she arrived and called in a biologist to consult. By the time John would usually have started work, they'd already reprogrammed the system to provide ten times as much fish, with the option for more when needed.

#

When Carson woke, he thought Ronon might go to breakfast with him. Ronon turned back toward the bathroom instead. "I'll leave this way. Can't make their surveillance training too easy."

Through a half open door Carson watched the large man pop open a ceiling vent and pull himself straight up as if it were nothing. He smiled down at Carson one last time before replacing the vent cover and disappearing.

#

The Jumper buzzed in John's mind and brought back the buzz that had settled in his body since the night before. His skin felt every shift of air inside the jumper. His brain felt systems all around him power up as he thought the Puddle Jumper on.

"Sergeant Markham to base command. Jumper Two is ready for test flight." John heard the Sergeant's steady voice from both the radio in his ear and some sort of speaker in the ship.

"Jumper Two, you are cleared to launch." Weir's formal words carried more than a hint of excitement.

John didn't know how Rodney had convinced Carson, Ford and Weir to allow test flights that afternoon, let alone to let John fly and actually leave Atlantis for the first time. He could swear the Jumper itself was as excited as he was to be getting out.

A moment before the Jumper Bay opened a giant exterior door, John felt his ship hum in anticipation. It was all John could do to watch Jumper Two fly through before requesting his own clearance. There was an uncomfortable pause before Weir said, "Jumper One, you are cleared to launch."

A scroll of Ancient characters filled the bottom of the windshield, and John assumed they were the equivalent of the cockpit controls he'd studied back on Earth.

In the blink of an eye, displays like he was used to on his flight simulator game appeared showing him altitude, radar, and primary flight display. They were reassuringly familiar, but he had no control wheel, throttle, rudder or breaks. Instead he thought about how fast he'd like to fly straight out through the large exterior door, and the shuttle jumped to do it.

There was no feeling of movement. In studying for his private pilot license, John had tried to mentally prepare for the reality of G-forces and air turbulence. Flying a Jumper turned out to be more like his simulator games. Strangely, the only part he physically felt was passing through the Jumper Bay doors where there was clearly some sort of forcefield. There was a pressure in his head and eyes like just before a storm. Then it was only the view out the window and all the dials he'd become accustomed to in practice that gave John a sense of velocity and direction. He added atmospheric readouts, and soon he could feel the wind hitting his jumper as he'd feel a fan blowing from one direction. With a thought, he added readouts for heat differential and humidity as he dipped closer to the ocean and rose higher. He flew up through a cloud to feel the almost precipitation and see that register on his new humidity meter.

It was after the cloud that Rodney first spoke and John remembered he wasn't alone. "Where did all the new readouts come from?"

Markham answered from the other Jumper, clearly having heard Rodney, "What new readouts? I'm flying by sight with Ancient hieroglyphics that Dr. Zeleka's trying to decode."

John barely thought before saying, "Just think about what you'd like displayed or what you want to feel."

There was a long silence. John remembered how it had taken him days to learn to move with the Russian wheel Rodney had installed in his Bug Boy cage. In time, he'd felt it like an extension of his body, controlling its spin and momentum the way he'd control his own arms or a pencil when he was writing. In comparison, sensing the Jumper as an extension of himself had happened fast. He added a trip clock to his display and saw they'd only left Atlantis 3.5 Earth minutes before.

It came together for John all at once. He was flying. The Jumper was his second skin. Turning his back to the sun or his nose to the wind came naturally.

His cheeks were sore, and John realized he'd probably been grinning like an idiot for 3.5 minutes without even noticing.

#

It was hard for Rodney to focus on collecting data with his tablet when the world outside rushed by like a vacation ad and the maniac beside him gleefully swooped his so-called Puddle Jumper down to just above sea level and then up through a cumulus cloud. Rodney had opened his mouth twice to ask John to show a bit of caution, but the words stuck in his throat.

John looked so happy.

Rodney had never seen the man that happy, not even during sex the night before. Although Rodney told himself the facial expressions that accompanied orgasm didn't always indicate the pleasure level. Watching John come apart under his hands had been the hottest experience of Rodney's life so far. John had been incoherent and definitely happy.

But his face as he flew looked happier. His smile showed an unreasonable number of teeth. Tiny creases radiated from the corners of his eyes. New icons and readouts popped up on the front viewport like an out of control population of bunnies.

When Rodney finally asked about the increasingly dense information displayed, Markham didn't seem to be seeing anything but Ancient. Rodney sent Zelenka a picture of their display as John gave the real pilot some touchy-feely explanation.

The Sergeant replied, "Thanks for the tip. I've simulated F-16 controls now."

Zelenka came over the line saying, "Are you monitoring atmosphere?"

Rodney used his tablet to interface with the Jumper for internal and external atmospheric readings. "Yes, why?"

"You may be entering the ionosphere."

"Yes!" John fist pumped into the air. "After that we're in space."

"You know, the ionosphere on Earth can disrupt sensitive electronics and sensors." Rodney couldn't find any evidence on his screen for that now, but he'd barely had time to check.

"These are spaceships, Ancient spaceships that can transition between atmosphere and space." John petted the front console as if he was praising a pet. Rodney was a little amused and a little bit jealous. "Hey, it won't make me a readout about the ionosphere and other layers of atmosphere."

"It would be different for different planets," Rodney offered.

"I thought the Ancients terraformed, and that's why people can just walk through the Gates." John's smile dimmed a bit, and his brow literally wrinkled as he apparently thought hard at the Jumper. "Maybe it doesn't understand what I want, because I don't know enough." He flashed a brief smile at Rodney, the first one directed at him all trip. "Could you try asking it for a readout based on what you know about the ionosphere and physics stuff?"

"I don't have your supergene. If it won't work for you—" But Rodney couldn't help but think about the ionosphere and atmospheric science once he was asked. A complex 3-D display appeared with atmospheric layers and all sorts of shifting movement. Rodney wondered if the Jumper had already been straining to do what John wanted and posted everything available once Rodney added his thoughts to the mix. That might be a fine avenue for research if they could pair certain scientists with strong natural gene carriers.

"Is that a storm?" John asked.

"What?" Rodney hadn't really studied the new display. "Oh no, that looks like a geomagnetic storm. Stay away from it."

"That the kind that fries electronics?" John asked.

Almost simultaneously Zelenka asked, "Can you send what you're seeing? We are following at what on Earth we might call the tropopause, and there is unusual atmospheric activity beneath us as well."

Rodney sent what he had and began to combine data for the various atmospheric sensors John had initiated. When music started blaring out of the speaker they'd formerly used to communicate with Zelenka and Stackhouse, Rodney looked up to see what looked like an MP3 player reading "Red Hot Chili Peppers: Leverage of Space."

"What noise is that?" Zelenka asked.

John and Markham answered simultaneous, "Red Hot Chili Pepper."

"Please, if you must have theme music, try 'The Creation' by Haydn," Rodney complained for form's sake. Then he saw the atmospheric storm that partially aligned beneath the geomagnetic storm they'd turned to avoid. "Wait, there are vertically moving oscillations transitioning from the cumulonimbus structure in the troposphere to form instabilities in the ionosphere. How big is that storm?" Rodney opened the communications channel back to Atlantis. "Base command, this is Jumper One. Are you picking up anything unusual on the city's atmospheric sensors?"

A voice he could barely identify as Weir replied with, "Jumper…didn't copy…"

"We should turn back," Rodney said as he dug deeper into the data collected so far.

"You sure we don't need readings from higher up?" John asked.

"The longer we're in the ionosphere the more risk we're at."

John's face lit up with the lightbulb moment of glee that Rodney was used to seeing in scientists. "We're less than two miles from the top now. We can fly back above the ionosphere and then drop down near Atlantis and well away from the storm."

"Why would we—" Rodney began.

"Enjoy your first spaceflight," Marham replied. "We'll stay in the tropopause and meet you back at Atlantis."

A few moments later the fancy 3-D readout John and Rodney had created together showed they were above the ionosphere, in what most people would call space or outer space. The music changed to "David Bowie—Space Oddity". Rodney swallowed what would have been a momentous rant on the triteness of that choice. John was so happy his eyes were damp.

Rodney looked out at the stars and thought, "Shit, we're flying though space in what's basically a 10,000 year old tin can." He wasn't going to admit to anyone what a turn on that was, but he let his hand fall to where it brushed against John's leg.

For a moment, John turned to smile at Rodney again.

#

"Why can't we simply evacuate to the mainland?" Weir asked at their debriefing. Carson thought that had been sufficiently covered in the scientific presentation, but he could see how distressed everyone was at news of the rare storm coming so soon after their arrival.

"Estimating seventy percent of the mainland will be effected," Rodney said without looking up from his tablet.

"We have no shelters in place, and most of our tents and supplies ended up at the quarantine site." It was sad how used to finishing McKay's arguments Carson was at this point.

"We could all go to the quarantine site and wait for the Daedalus," Ford said with a shrug.

"That would mean giving up any chance to return to Atlantis or to continue our mission anyplace else, and we don't know when the Daedalus will be able to reach us," Weir objected.

"The Gate probably wouldn't let us go there anyway. Quarantine was for a reason." Zelenka also spoke while still tapping at his tablet.

"Could you two pay attention?" Ford practically shouted.

"If you'd stop interrupting," Rodney said. "We only have twelve hours to save the city."

"My duty is to protect our people," Ford said.

At the same time Weir put in, "If this happens every twenty to thirty years, surely the city is designed to survive."

Rodney waved an arm over the table, "With the city at full power. Now if we could find a way to power the shields…"

Zelenka pushed up his glasses, "Without plasma bubbles or lightning—"

"Lightning!" both scientists chorused at once. Then they devolved into something less than language that involved each of them pointing at and even tapping each other's tablets.

John circled around behind them and then announced to the room, "They might need a little time, but if I understand what they're planning, we'll still need to evacuate the city."

"What?" Ford asked loudly.

"Why?" Weir asked firmly.

"Umm," John bit his lower lip and for once looked no older than his twenty years, "They might be able to collect power from lightning to charge the shield generator, but it would involve running electricity through superconducting materials in the hallways. The control room would be the only safe space in the city, and well, safe could be a relative term."

There was a knock from the closet door and Ronon entered that way again. Carson had asked about adding him to the command staff meetings as a foreign ambassador and been denied. Now he was a little smug as Ronon dominated the room without a word. All but the two scientists who were muttering together waited silently. Finally Ronon said, "I will show you Sateda."

#

As the initial video from the MALP played, showing a level of destruction even Carson found hard to stomach, Ronon turned away. The control room around them was nearly silent as everyone either watched the video or prepared for the storm to hit Atlantis. It was quiet enough to hear the high winds and rain already lashing the tower.

"Well, there are some buildings standing," Weir said. Carson wasn't sure if she meant to reassure Ronon or Ford.

Rodney huffed. "Nothing I'd trust with my life even after an engineering survey. But oh, right, I'm staying here to charge the shields and save the city."

"None of us are going. There is no food or viable shelter." Ford pointed at the MALP footage still playing.

"No human life signs so far, but there are small animals and clean water. We can decide on shelter if we need it, but Sateda seems to be our best option." Weir looked pointedly at Ford and then down at a checklist in her hand.

"I can work with that." Carson knew he should be adapting his own checklist for the medical personnel and equipment he wanted to bring. He looked at Ronon who was now watching the MALP footage from several feet away. Probably he'd already seen more than enough of his devastated home planet. "Ronon, could you help me determine which Ancient devices in the infirmary will work away from Atlantis?"

Ronon nodded silently. No one present would ever believe how eloquently the man had spoken the night before.

"Bring me back a ZedPM from the gift shop," Rodney called to the room at large. Carson thought more along the lines of Wraith parts and a potential DNA sample. But as Head of Science, he'd happily assign people of all specialties to survey within safe parameters. That was something else he should consult with Ronon about.

#


	3. Chapter 3

**October, 2004- Various Locations in Pegasus Galaxy**

"I will collect your Wraith specimen and bring it to the Central Museum," Ronon said when he and Carson first reached Sateda. The skeleton of his capital city looked even bleaker in person. He picked up the large sample kit marked in the overly visible red of most Earthling medical containers. Ford had established a base of operations behind a barricade near the Gate. It was a good staging location all things considered. If Ronon didn't look any farther, he could ignore the scars on his birth world.

"If they're in the hospital freezer, surely there's a space there where I could make a preliminary examination." Carson had kept close to Ronon since their first video view of Sateda. This had limited Ronon's direct involvement in setting up the evacuation. It also kept him away from Ford and meant he didn't clear dead bodies from the main street with the first wave of military on the planet.

"The hospital was heavily damaged. You would not be safe there." Ronon didn't mention that no healer would want to see the number of corpses left to rot, many of them children and patients too weak to fight during that final massive slaughter. Ronon was only venturing in because Carson had explained what might best preserve DNA and tissue for him to study. One of the hospital cooks wielding a cleaver had trapped a Wraith in a massive freezer while the Wraith was distracted by feeding on her assistant. Even the cooks among his people had fought in that final battle. Ronon had been called to sever its head, because the Wraith were known to survive extreme conditions through hibernation. Even if the freezer had run out of power in the years since, that was his best prospect for a well-preserved Wraith corpse, only a little chopped up.

"If it's not safe, I don't want you risking your life to bring me research samples." Carson crossed his arms. Ronon wanted to reassure him with a touch, but there were too many Earthlings around. Earthlings didn't touch each other much as far as Ronon had seen.

Ford stomped up then shouting: "Mendez, escort Dr. Beckett to the Central Museum. Ask if either of the combat engineers is available for a retrieval from the hospital with Ronon. If not, you go with Ronon and stay clear enough to radio if there's trouble."

Ronon nodded in appreciation of Ford's improving leadership abilities as Mendez said, "Yes, sir."

#

As they followed Mendez down a wide paved boulevard away from the Gate, Carson had trouble believing he was on an alien planet. Sateda—at least the built-up area near the Gate—looked disturbingly like Glasgow. Not that Carson knew Glasgow that well. He epitomized it as a basic, utilitarian city. It had the same sort of strong buildings mixed with occasional statues or older buildings, at least on Earth the buildings with pillars and buttresses would have likely been older. If the sky was a different color than home, the hazy clouds hid it. Grey clouds often hid the sky in Glasgow as well. There was no smell of plants, or it was overwhelmed by the dust kicked up as they walked through the rubble. But from what Carson could tell, the area hadn't had many green spaces before. Neither did Glasgow.

Sateda did look slightly better in person, taking a wide view and with most of the expedition here to make it seem lived in again. There were occasional bones or blood stains, but either this road had been cleared before or the first batch of their own military had cleared this route to suit civilian sensibilities.

He didn't dare ask how Ronon felt about it. None of the emotion he'd shown watching the MALP video was showing now. But when the big man walked close enough for their arms to brush, Carson matched his stride to maintain those snatches of contact. He remembered what Ronon said about a one point touch being a tease, but he hoped in this case it was a promise that he'd be there to comfort Ronon later if wanted.

Then they reached the Central Museum. Ronon had described it as more than a museum, with archives and labs in the basement. He claimed it had been built to last and had seen little fighting so far as he knew. Carson thought it was beautiful.

Where the courtyard had survived, there were geometric patterns worked with different colors of paving stones. The front of the low building displayed a series of arches protecting part of a long front terrace. A small portion looked like it had been bombed, but there was no further damage as they crossed to a large entry room inside. This room was dusty but intact. A series of small windows had shattered inward, but paintings still decorated the walls. An anthropologist, Corrigan, was already documenting the site with a camera and tablet.

"There is a display of healing arts and technologies three rooms to the right," Ronon said.

No one else Carson had known would have thought to give him personal touring instructions in the middle of an evacuation to their mostly destroyed homeland. "I'll try to see it, if the engineers will allow access."

That seemed to prompt Mendez to check in with the site supervisor. He returned to say, "Dr. Beckett, your presence has been requested in a lab downstairs. Mr. Ronon, our combat engineers are busy here. I can accompany you to the hospital."

Ronon looked the man up and down once. "You have combat experience?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good enough."

Ronon looked like he might reach out to Carson, but then he shifted the motion to adjust the bulky medical sample bags he carried.

As he left, Carson headed downstairs and almost ran into Kusanagi rushing upward. "Is Ronon already gone?"

"Afraid so."

The small woman met his eyes in a way she wouldn't have before their interactions with Ronon. "Come tell me what you think. Dr. Howard and I have an idea about the storytelling center here. Then you can help us sort any Ancient tech out from items that respond to the Satedan genetic variation instead."

#

By the time Biro took their last evacuees through the Gate, John and Sergeant Bates were already in place to disable the first two grounding stations. Bates radioed in to Markham, "Grounding station one offline now." There was an audible clunk and hiss as the grounding rod uncoupled.

Rodney checked that the lightning rods from that region of Atlantis were now set to discharge down the superconducting hallways and be routed into the shield generator as soon as lightning struck. The paths all showed as primed, but he couldn't know for sure until all four grounding stations were taken offline. "Okay, move on to station four."

"Copy that, Bates?"

"Yes, sir."

Rodney huffed at the redundancy before checking on John. "How's grounding station two?"

"Windy and wet, but I'm punching in the code now." There was a pause followed by the same clunk and hissing sounds. "Looks good."

After checking his console, Rodney said, "Same here. Get out to station three. We have at most twenty minutes to get everyone safely back."

"Looking forward to it."

#

Running was the best chance John had to keep warm. Bates radioed in that he'd decoupled station four while John was still heading back from station two, so John hurried even more. By the time he opened the door to the final grounding station, the rain was pouring down and lightening flashed in distant clouds. He smelled ozone and ocean and didn't want to think what would happen if lightning struck the city before they were ready. His body buzzed with adrenaline, and the sound of rain reminded him of his experience in the shower and by extension Rodney's touch.

Wind whipped through John's hair from the open balcony. It was a step down past an open railing from the actual grounding mechanism. The dark sky beyond flashed with lines of pink and red that set off the reddish walls around him. John's hands weren't quite too numb to punch in the code that separated the grounding rod into two pieces. With a clunk and a whoosh the job was finished. He was turning away and reaching for his radio when something heavy hit him from behind.

#

Mendez did not have the sort of combat experience Ronon needed.

There was no one left to fight, but the front steps of the hospital were piled deep with bodies. Ronon stepped carefully but naturally to avoid desecrating any dead. Those that had been fed on by the Wraith were nothing but bones, the papery husks of skin and organs having washed away, probably in the first rainy season. But the Wraith had come to kill all his people. There had been so many at the hospital by the end that the Wraith had left most of them to rot.

As Mendez went visibly pale Ronon said, "Stay over there, away from the building. You can call for help if it collapses on me."

Ronon didn't believe the building would collapse. But he didn't need Mendez looking over his shoulder and vomiting on the dead either.

"Yes, sir," Mendez replied.

The hospital corridors were dim. Both backup power systems had failed by now. Ronon continued to place his steps carefully, out of respect.

His second winter on Atlantis, Ronon had saved enough wood from bot deliveries to raise a bonfire for all the Satedan dead. He'd lit smaller fires for his parents, Melena, and their unborn child.

In his years as a Runner, a bonfire had never been an option. His first winter on Atlantis, Ronon had wanted to light those fires. But his mind was not yet settled enough to say the words of peace and letting go. He mourned and worked on his music story for another full year before he was ready.

Now he knew better than to seek Melena's remains. She was no longer here. He had done what he could.

To collect or burn remains at this point would be civic maintenance, not an act of love or respect. If the Earthlings or others wanted to reclaim Sateda, they could deal with the clean-up. Ronon was here to do a favor for a friend, for a healer who still lived and perhaps offered a new connection.

He walked through his people's last battlefield to the large kitchen freezer. Pulling on the gloves Carson had provided, he opened the sealed but no longer chilled freezer. The Wraith remains were not an enemy any more than those littering the floor were his people. He loaded the samples into plastic containers and sealed them into the big red bag.

Suddenly there was shouting and crashing from the main corridor. Mendez called out, "They need us back. There is a hostage situation."

Ronon closed the red case and hefted it even as he drew his blaster and hurried out. He stared Mendez into silence. With forced quiet and calm he asked, "Who has taken hostages?"

"A Wraith and three locals. At the museum." Mendez was panting but seemed in control of himself again. He no longer looked at the corpses littering the steps as Ronon led them out of the hospital wondering how any Satedan survivors could ally themselves with the Wraith.

#

It took John a moment to remember he was at grounding station three. Someone had jumped him from behind and his head was throbbing. The red walls around him seemed far away as he was dragged by his underarms toward the smell of ocean and ozone.

Whoever had him was shorter and broader than John. The man's arms looped tight around John's chest and all John could think was to get away before he was thrown into the ocean. He tensed the muscles in his chest as he struck his captor's hands then elbowed back toward his face.

It worked. The man hadn't expected him to come awake so soon. Maybe John really did heal faster than normal.

As the grip across his chest released, John kicked out as hard as possible at the man's groin. The force sent John back onto his ass a yard away. He was pressed against the outside railing. Nothing but storm and sea on the other side. If he didn't escape or take his attacker out now, John was pretty sure he'd die by drowning or electrocution. Pushing himself up to attack, he finally saw who it was.

"Sergeant Bates?" He should have known. There were only four of them left on Atlantis, and only one had Bates' build. "But why?"

In his moment of hesitation Bates charged. A shoulder to John's stomach laid him flat with Bates on top of him. The Sergeant pulled out a knife. "Blood and a finger. That's all your brother wants."

"My brother?" John thought he had enough known enemies without anyone inventing more.

As Bates wrestled John's more human hand into position to cut off a finger he said, "Today's transmission from Earth said the Daedalus should reach us within two weeks, but they think there's a bounty hunter on board gunning for you. Your old man died and your brother is offering millions for proof you can't contest the will."

"Davey?" For a moment John wanted to die. If even Davey, the little brother he'd tried to save wanted him dead, maybe it was inevitable. He wasn't human. At best people wanted to study him or use his ATA gene.

The doors opened and a warm blast of air burst from across the grounding station. John remembered his feeling of belonging on Atlantis. He'd used his Bug Boy skills to free everyone from the nets. Even Ford had taken his advice for securing the city that first day, and in the end, and he'd done a lot of good with the control chair and the Jumper.

Besides, Bates was clearly a worse human being that him even if John wasn't quite human.

Pulling himself through the balcony rail rather than trying to get away, John dragged Bates with him. Bates lost his knife as he grabbed for the rail to keep from sliding into the ocean. In that moment, John flipped through the bars like he'd done a thousand times on the circus wheel in his Bug Boy cage.

A gust of wind and freezing rain swept him toward the inner railing.

Bates let out a scream as the same gust pummeled him against the outside of the balcony. His hands slipped, and he fell.

Ears ringing and face covered with water, John kept both hands on a railing or wall until he made his way inside and was stumbling back toward the main tower. It wasn't until he'd covered half the distance and was starting to shake that he heard Rodney's voice in his ear. "John, where are you. The final station is offline, but we only have minutes left."

He heard Markham calling for Bates as he reached the main tower. Here he knew alternate routes. The vents and service tunnels didn't have the superconducting strips. With luck, they'd be safe if he couldn't reach the Gate Room in time.

On the second try, his numb fingers managed to trigger his radio. "I'm in the main tower. I think Bates drowned. Can you scan for life signs by grounding station three?"

"Three? Why was he at three?" Rodney's voice was high pitched and frantic. "Sensors are offline for all but this room, and we need to seal it off soon. Lightning could strike any minute."

"I can take to the vents if we're out of time. Don't risk yourselves or Atlantis." John reviewed all the hiding places and alternate routes he knew. Most of them were several levels above him. If he could take the transporters that high, he might as well reach the Gate Room. "Transporters still work?" he asked.

"Yes!" Rodney was shouting. "Get in a transporter now. I'm keeping them active just for you, and you will get here in time."

John ran with energy he didn't know he had. It was easier than trying to argue with Rodney, and Rodney wouldn't protect himself until John made it to the Gate Room.

The transporter doors opened as soon as he could see them and spit him out by the Gate Room while he was still catching his breath. As soon as the doors to the Gate Room closed, Rodney's hand flew over an Ancient console as well as the laptop Rodney had attached on top of it.

"Is it working?" Markham asked.

"Power has to build enough for the shield to activate." Rodney stared at the screens in front of him.

Markham was staring at an outside image, and John saw a giant wall of water approaching. He'd feared the lightning that was now crackling through the halls of Atlantis. But if Earth had tidal waves that size, John had never been in a place to fear them.

There was nothing he could do as a wave taller than the outside towers of Atlantis came straight at them.

At the last moment, the wave broke in an unnatural curve. A dome-shaped shield protected the city.

#

Ronon kept himself and Mendez under cover as much as possible on their way back to the museum. He hid the bright red bag where it might be recovered later as he surveyed the checkpoint outside the museum and identified two hidden Marines. They weren't hidden well enough, but he spotted no hostiles watching them. Wherever the hostage takers had come from, the Earthlings had clearly relied on their sensors and detection devices too much. He needed to train them better if they were going to fight together.

Ronon let Mendez lead them into the checkpoint in what had once been an information booth at the front of the museum courtyard. Luckily, Sergeant Stackhouse was in charge of the checkpoint. He had acquitted himself as well as any of the Earth military so far and earned a small measure of Ronon's respect.

"Sergeant, what's the situation?" Ronon asked.

Stackhouse motioned Ronon closer. The other three Marines in the room, including Mendez, kept a perimeter around him and stayed where they could see out. "Dr. Weir has asked that you advise us as an ally. I will tell you what we know if you will hand over your weapon as a sign of good faith."

"And if I don't?"

Safeties clicked off from weapons around the room. "Then we would need to secure you as a possible double agent until the current situation is resolved."

Ronon kept his hands well away from his blaster. Stackhouse had only asked for his 'weapon,' singular. Could they seriously believe he had only one? "Fine, but if I go into battle, I'm taking it back."

Stackhouse nodded. "Mendez, secure the weapon."

Mendez met Ronon's eyes before he stepped forward and took the blaster from Ronon's hip.

"Now," Ronon said, "what's the situation?"

While the others in the checkpoint reengaged safeties on their weapons and kept watch, Stackhouse pulled up a tablet. "Drs. Beckett and Zelenka were checking out a possible energy source." Ronon stood tall and ignored the worry that stabbed his gut at Beckett's name. "The Corporal escorting them clicked his radio but failed to report. When he didn't respond to return radio calls, a team of four Marines was sent in. They found a withered husk of an old man in the Corporal's uniform. We presumed this was a Wraith attack and gathered all civilians in the front room of the museum under guard to better protect them. We are conducting a search, but there are no life sign readings so far. Dr. Kusanagi, who is with the civilians in the front room, received a video chat from Dr. Zelenka less than five minutes ago. There is no audio."

From the crooked view of the room on the tablet, Ronon assumed Zelenka's tablet had been left tilted against a wall to provide covert surveillance. The image was far from clear, but Carson and Zelenka were easy to identify, each being held with their arms behind their backs by humans while another human pointed a blaster at them. The humans were dressed mostly in leather and one held a blaster that was either Satedan or Traveler technology. The image was fuzzy and Ronon hoped these were not his people, allied with a Wraith and threatening one he loved.

A Wraith commander with long black coat and long white hair was speaking fiercely to Carson and gesturing at a table in the center of the room. The table was triangular with long groves down the sides and indents in the middle of each side where a hand might rest. Even without the audio, Ronon thought he knew what that table was. It looked like the Wraith knew at least some of it as well.

"Do you recognize the table?" Ronon asked.

Stackhouse said, "Lots of Ancient tables and consoles are triangular. Did your people do that as well?"

"You took video of the last music story."

"What?" Stackhouse looked again. "You're not saying—"

At that moment Ford pushed through the door, startling two of the three Marines on watch. Ronon thought of communication and watch strategies that would help.

"Why isn't he restrained?" Ford asked.

"Orders were to work with him as an ally if he gave up his weapon, sir."

"Dr. Weir's orders. I said not to trust him." Ford rounded to stand behind Stackhouse rather than holding his position between Ronon and the door.

"We've followed both your orders and the expedition leader's." Ronon noted the Sergeant's mention of Weir's authority beyond her usual title of doctor. "He is disarmed, guarded, and without direct access to coms, sir."

"His people are holding ours hostage. Coming here was a mistake or possibly a trap, just as Colonel Sumner suspected." Ford leveled his weapon at Ronon. "Did you set us up?"

Ronon didn't let the idiomatic phrase distract him. "I gave my best advice. As an ally I continue to do so."

"Prove it."

"I will gladly kill the Wraith and Wraith worshippers."

"Worshippers? Your people worship the Wraith?" For once Ronon could empathize with the disgust on the young leader's face.

"I doubt those with the Wraith are Satedan. You see what the Wraith did here." Ronon rolled his head to indicate his planet then wondered if the Earthlings recognized that gesture. He shrugged. "We are not quick to forgive."

"Why would anyone worship a Wraith?"

"The life force they feed on can at times be taken and returned over and over. It is torture but also addictive. Those of my people who could charge devices were immune."

"Why should I believe a word you say?" Ford leaned onto the table in challenge.

Ronon held his position. "I know the museum's architecture. I can get your people out, kill the Wraith, and capture the Wraith worshippers for you to interrogate."

"Tell me how. I'm not letting you in there."

"We don't even know which room they're in yet. I will be tracking, listening, climbing through spaces between walls. If you have someone quiet and strong enough to follow me, they could send you video like this." He waved to the tablet stopped at an image of Carson and Zelenka held captive.

Before Ford could reply, Stackhouse said, "I volunteer. My ATA gene might be useful and I have the requisite skills, sir."

#

Carson did not struggle against the burly man who twisted his arms up behind his back. As a doctor, he knew how easy it was to dislocate a shoulder from such a position. More importantly, the creature in front of him was almost certainly a Wraith, despite seeming more calculating and restrained than the ravenous monsters Carson had envisioned. Although he could tell little about the man who kept his arms pinned, Carson preferred the human touch.

Rather than attacking or feeding, the Wraith sealed the door and introduced himself. "I am known as Guide. I seek a wisdom and freedom beyond the stars." Carson wasn't sure what to make of the philosophical and ambiguous words. Nor had he expected Guide's well-tailored clothing or body art, like the starburst tatoo around his eye.

"I am Library Bard," the graceful woman beside Guide offered.

"From the Satedan library?" Carson asked, hoping the tablet Zelenka had managed to activate might transmit useful information to someone with the evacuation.

"From Library." After a pause she continued, "The word for our world was Library."

"Was?"

"A hive ship destroyed most of it. But Guide rescued me, because I knew the music story that told of his Ascension. I have recreated the pillar lost in the destruction of Library in the Satedan Storytelling center. We saw you working in the power source room and knew you were the other two the Ascension device requires to help Guide Ascend."

"You are a bard from a planet called Library?" Carson's heart was racing and he tried to calm himself so he could think.

The lean woman nodded. "And you carry the power of the Ancestors while your partner offers the charge of the Satedans."

Carson realized they'd mistaken Zelenka for someone with Ronon's genetic heritage because of the charging device he'd attached to Satedan artifacts. Whether that would work to their advantage or not Carson didn't know, but he was glad that Zelenka kept quiet.

#

Ronon and Stackhouse held still and silent as they listened to the self-proclaimed Library Bard. The sub-basement service corridor they occupied was fine for eavesdropping, but Satedans had not built the sort of foolishly large vents Ronon had used for spying and eavesdropping on Atlantis. At least, Stackhouse appeared to be transmitting audio along with images from where they stood listening.

It would have helped to have audio along with Zelenka's initial video. Now Ronon felt rushed to make strategic decisions with limited information. At least they'd given his blaster back.

Then Library Bard started singing. She knew the music story they'd discovered on Atlantis. She sang all parts of the oddly detailed debate about three of the Ancestors descendants coming together to recharge ZPMs as the Wraith Ascended. Clearly the Wraith known as Guide believed the triangular table in the basement of this Satedan museum was the one intended to help the Wraith Ascend. If it worked, Ronon figured the Wraith would be as good as dead and Atlantis could have a crystal that recharged ZPMs. McKay might even be able to make a weapon to destroy the Wraith while recovering energy, like a giant self-charging Wraith blaster. Ronon liked the idea. The only problem was that Zelenka wasn't the right man for the job.

#

As the bard sang, the man holding Carson's arms behind his back forced him up against one side of the triangular table. Zelenka was similarly man handled, and the Wraith took his place on the third side.

When the excerpt from the music story ended with a declaration to bring the three lines of descent together in peace, Carson's hand was slammed roughly into the hand-shaped impression before him. Two other hands struck at the same time.

The room went silent.

Nothing happened.

The Wraith hissed. "What form of betrayal is this?"

"I do not know," the bard whimpered almost in tune with her last verse. "We could check the picture on the pillar above, but I believe we have done all as was told."

"You!" the Wraith hissed across the table at Carson and Zelenka. The word vibrated through Carson's head and body in a way that made his bladder weak. "Focus on the artifact we touch. If you cannot help me to Ascend, your life force will feed me until I find stronger specimens."

"Let me try!" Ronon's voice boomed through the walls. Carson suddenly felt terror like a stone in his gut, but it freed him from whatever influence the Wraith had been exerting. "I am the stronger specimen you seek and would be glad to see you Ascend."

"It could be a trick," Library Bard whispered.

"I give my word as a bard," Ronon said. Then he sang a few lines of a different music story that translated as, "The word of the bard must be the word of truth so far as it is known."

"Let him in," Guide said as he grabbed Carson and shoved the man who'd previously held Carson's arms toward the barricaded door. The Wraith's feeding hand hovered an inch above Carson's chest. The doctor tried for a calm leadership face to show Ronon he was ready to support whatever plan had emerged.

Once the burly man managed to open the door, he backed away, into the room. Ronon entered with his blaster raised.

"Put down your weapon," the Wraith commanded. Carson's hearing or mind echoed with some physical effect of that voice, but Ronon kept his weapon trained on the man who'd opened the door as he herded him toward Zelenka and the woman restraining him.

"I am Satedan and I do this on my own terms, as will the descendent of the Ancestors"—he tilted his head toward Carson—"if you want this to work."

"Your terms?" the Wraith hissed. The sub-sonics or psychic influence or whatever the Wraith was using showed no effect when directed at Ronon. Carson wondered if this was another genetic benefit or a resistance built up over years as a Runner.

"No one touches me. I keep my weapon. If you Ascend, those left in this room are mine to command."

"You are of this benighted world. How are you not dead?"

Ronon stared at the Wraith. The Wraith stared back.

Guide broke the silence. "Best not to fail then. Servants, to me."

The tall woman holding Zelenka dragged him to a position between Guide and Ronon's blaster. The other two "servants" took positions on either side of her. Carson was released and pushed back toward the table as Guide and his human shield moved back to the Wraith's previous position.

Ronon stepped into the place where Zelenka had been, and Carson wondered if the plan was truly to help the Wraith Ascend. So far as he knew, no one understood the physics or metaphysics involved with Ascension. If it worked, it might effectively kill the Wraith and power the ZPM charging device as well. Or it might raise a ravenous destructive force into an intangible and unmeasurable position of power. But there was no time to discuss the plan with Ronon.

As Library Bard sang again, Carson followed Ronon's lead. They placed their hands on the Ancient device and Guide reached through his human shield to do the same.

There was a flash of light.

The Wraith was gone.

A large golden crystal on a base similar to a ZPM rose from the center of the triangular artifact. The crystal was triangular, exactly as described in the music story.

The three humans who had helped to capture Carson and Zelenka fell to their knees. Ronon kept his blaster trained on them as Zelenka used zip ties to secure their hands behind their backs. Sergeant Stackhouse pushed the door fully open and escorted the prisoners out.

Moments later Carson felt Ronon's arm pressing warmly against his. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Ronon grunted as Kusanagi and Corrigan, another anthropologist who had been documenting the entryway earlier, bundled in with piles of equipment. Kusanagi and Zelenka started scanning and arguing about the best way to dismantle, secure, and transport the entire artifact in addition to the crystal. Corrigan buzzed around the room muttering for them not to move anything until he recorded every detail in situ.

Ronon said, "The Wraith worshippers will become sick without the Wraith to feed them. They will try to escape to find another and will become violent and delirious otherwise."

"How soon, and is there anything I can do?" Carson asked.

"Hours to days depending on how the Wraith kept them. If you can restrain them and get water into them, they might live through it."

"Is it like drug withdrawal?"

"Worse than for any drug known on Sateda. Many try to kill themselves to end it."

"Excuse me," Kusanagi stood quietly beside them. Carson had been so caught up in the latest dilemma that he hadn't noticed her breaking away from Zelenka.

"What is it?" Carson asked.

Kusanagi looked between him and Ronon. "After Dr. Zelenka opened his video feed to me, I brought it to Dr. Weir. She asked me to scan our other video sources for possible clues as to what was going on." She hesitated and turned to Ronon. "You weren't here to ask earlier, so I hope we didn't trespass, but we'd set several drone cameras to record images from the pillars in the storytelling center here. It would be up to you whether they could be projected or repainted on the pillars in Atlantis."

Ronon nodded. He didn't look offended. Carson guessed he was waiting, as Carson himself was, to see why someone normally as quiet and task-focused as Kusanagi had interrupted to tell them this now.

"The room showed recent access, clear footpaths upsetting the dust and debris, that we didn't see anywhere else we went." Kusanagi spoke faster as she went on, and Carson sensed there was something urgent in what she wanted to tell them. "The disturbed area included a pillar showing the music story that told us about this device. The paint was different from most pillars in the room, shinier. There were other newly painted pillars nearby, and one partially completed that included images of a Wraith with a starburst pattern around his eye. I haven't seen other Wraith to know if that's unique to the one who was in this room. But from what you said, it sounds like you may have a limited opportunity to question the humans who were helping that Wraith."

"The bard…" Carson said.

"Is mine to command," Ronon said. "They should bring her to the storytelling center where I can best question her and compel her to perform if necessary."

"I'll persuade Weir, in case Ford is unsupportive," Carson said.

"Please have the drones or Fiona record it," Kusanagi said as they were leaving. "I have to stay here to help with the artifact."

#

Once the giant wave broke around Atlantis' shield, Rodney let out a whoop and threw up his hands. Markham sighed in relief.

John curled up in a ball and let the shaking overtake his body.

#

Rodney was alarmed to see a soaked and shaking John huddled on the floor. "What happened?"

Markham followed his gaze and said, "I'll see what's in the emergency kit Dr. Carson left."

After one last check to make sure the shield was holding, Rodney went to crouch beside John. But John pulled away when Rodney tried to touch him. "John, what's wrong? Are you cold? Take your wet shirts off. I'll give you my jacket."

Markham arrived with a large grey container and opened it to reveal food and a first aid kit. "There should be space blankets," he said. A moment later he was trying to wrap John in crinkly mylar, but John scooted toward the wall shaking his head.

Rodney was about to explain that John didn't like being touched when Markham barked out in an obviously military tone, "Let me help you. It is my job to protect civilians, and I didn't get to do it when you took that bomb out."

John looked up as if recognizing Markham for the first time. He started to fumble at the zipper on his jacket, but his fingers were obviously numb. Markham reached in to help, and John let him.

#

Library Bard stood in front of the newly painted but incomplete pillar. Her feet were hobbled, her hands tied to a loose leash that Ronon held. He had needed to insist that she be able to gesture to perform her unfinished tribute to the Wraith they'd all seen Ascend. Two Marines stood on each side with weapons drawn. Dr. Fiona Howard stood beside Ronon and a video drone hovered above.

Ronon spoke words that had never been meant to apply to such a situation. "Bard, share your unfinished work with me that I might share and complete it in your stead if you do not survive." Ronon did not think he would finish the music story at all the way its creator would if she survived, but there was only room for one or two more scenes on the pillar. Whatever the story was, it needed to be told.

"In the midst of war, a Guide was born." Library Bard's voice was deep and strong. With her opening line she transcended her status as prisoner and Wraith worshipper. Ronon saw her strength and what she'd survived was all for her art. "Strong to walk alone, to lead his people with certain mind, and find, a way to the end of time."

#

The wet clothes scraped as John let Markham bare his arms and chest. Calloused fingers pressed a growing bruise across his ribs. Until then he hadn't noticed the ache.

Rodney's hands dried him. His hands were gentle, the cloth rough.

John's hands scraped like ice through the arms of a jacket that smelled like Rodney, although it didn't smell happy. It was still warm from Rodney.

"Get behind him, chest to back," Markham directed.

Rodney didn't even argue.

John didn't deserve the warmth. Arms wrapped around him. The crinkly foil blanket being wrapped on top snapped him out of his haze. "I killed him. I killed Bates."

#

In the second song, Guide came of age fighting the Ancestors. If the story was true, something Ronon questioned more than he had previously questioned any music story, Guide had almost died in the final battle against Atlantis. According to the Earthlings, that had been 10,000 of their years ago, which fit with his own people's stories.

Ronon wasn't sure if a Wraith could live that long. They survived on the life force of others. He did not like the thought of how many had died to keep this one Wraith alive. When they returned to Atlantis, he could check the few details the song gave to see if the descriptions of attacking Atlantis were accurate.

#

There was no doubt in Rodney's mind that if John killed Bates then Bates deserved it. Still, he looked up at Markham. The last thing he needed was the only military left on Atlantis trying to lock John up again. Not that any of them were leaving the Gate Room for the next couple hours.

"Keep him talking," was all Markham said.

"How did Bates end up at grounding station three?" Rodney asked.

"I didn't know he was there until I was about to radio you. I turned away and someone hit me over the head. Next thing I knew he was dragging me toward the balcony."

It seemed likely John was delusional. Rodney patted John's head and sure enough found a bump.

"Ouch," John said. "That's where he hit me."

Rodney looked at his hand and didn't see any blood. He certainly wasn't going to put an ice pack on John right now. "Then what?"

"I tried to escape before he knew I was awake. Hit his hand and head to get loose. Then kicked him in the groin to get away."

"Did it work?"

"At first. I stopped when I saw it was Bates. Then he was on top of me with a knife, saying…" John's face scrunched up. Rodney was prepared to hear racism and curse words. Instead John said, "My baby brother, Davey, wants me dead."

John curled into Rodney's chest, sobbing.

Markham politely turned away and made a point of checking both Rodney's monitors and his own.

#

As they neared the final pictures that Library Bard had painted, Ronon knew how he would weave in an alternative point of view if he completed the work. It had to end with Guide's Ascension. It didn't have to glorify him as a hero. Ronon had studied music stories written at the behest of dictators and tyrants, but he'd never heard anything like this biography of a Wraith. Part of him hoped Library Bard would survive to complete her own perspective, and to save Ronon from having to make peace with this work.

The next to last song held a twist Ronon hadn't anticipated. "He had only to find the way, knowing others would follow behind. His people were pure, sharing his insights, all of one mind."

Everyone knew the Wraith could project phantom images and sounds into susceptible minds. Most believed they communicated telepathically with each other. It was even said all the hives would wake if someone killed their Keeper, but Ronon didn't know if he believed that. Library Bard clearly believed Guide's Ascension would cause a mass Ascension of all the Wraith. Ronon doubted the real ending would be half as nice.

#

John wasn't sure what he'd said. He was pretty sure Rodney didn't believe him. It felt a bit like a television show where the main character woke up in a mental hospital. Most of the time, if a mathematician or lab assistant thought secret government agencies were after him and his brother had put a bounty on his head, that probably meant the guy was nuts. A quick glance at his hand showed it was still blue, and John allowed a moment to be disappointed. Being crazy sounded easier right now. When John realized there was no proof about anything that had happened out at grounding station three, it all seemed twice as hopeless.

But Rodney was shaking him. "Wake up, John. Everyone's coming back to Atlantis. Markham had to tell them that Bates was missing and presumed dead. He said you came in delirious and told them parts of the story, but I'm pretty sure you'll want to be on your feet for this."

John didn't think it would help, but if it mattered to Rodney, he'd try to stand up.

Ford came through the Gate first, but Carson and Ronon were right on his heels. Ronon carried a first aid bag that looked like it has a body in it.

"Markham," Ford shouted, "Report."

Markham began with reporting about radio check ins while Serano and Bates were disconnecting the grounding stations. For a moment, John wondered if Serano was somehow alive and had come to Atlantis and set up Bates to kill John. Then John realized Serano meant him in this case.

While he was distracted, Carson had pushed back the survival blanket and borrowed jacket enough to check John's pulse. The doctor was staring into John's eyes when he said, "Have you eaten anything?"

John thought he shook his head before Carson announced, "I'm taking him to the infirmary for 24 hours' observation."

Ford interrupted whatever Markham was saying about alleged messages from Earth to demand, "He needs to be in a cell until we clear up what happened to Bates."

"You'll need guards in the infirmary for the Wraith worshippers anyway. They can guard John at the same time, but I'm putting him in a private room." John found himself walking to the infirmary with Carson and Rodney on either side of him before he could ask why anyone would worship a Wraith.

#

The next day, Carson insisted they hold their command staff meeting in his office. He didn't trust what might happen if he left the infirmary. After finally persuading Rodney to go back to work after spending the night in John's room, Carson was mostly keeping John as a patient to make sure he didn't end up in a cell again.

As Weir arrived, one of the Wraith worshippers started screaming and thrashing in his restraints. Carson was glad to see Marie checking monitors before adding the only sedative he was willing to authorize in their IVs. He'd spent most of the night studying both Wraith biochemistry from the remains Ronon collected and samples he'd taken from the Wraith worshippers, but there was little chance he could find something to help them before they suffered through withdrawal.

Elizabeth looked horrified. "Is there nothing we can do?"

"We're already doing it." He ushered her into his office, "Would you like some tea?"

"Please." She bit back whatever else she wanted to say.

Ford arrived as he was pouring. "Would you like some tea?"

The young man's eyebrows rose, but something in his upbringing made him say, "No, thank you."

Once they were seated, Carson pointedly asked Weir, "Where would you like to begin?"

Weir smiled a quick acknowledgement. "After sending our report to Earth and asking for them to re-send any messages that pertained to the Daedalus or John Serano, we are waiting for a reply." She didn't say anything about the tirade Sumner had put forth at the news, and Carson was glad Ford seemed to be ignoring it as well. "Ronon Dex has requested to travel to a planet where he might gather news regarding the Wraith. If no one objects, I've asked him to join us."

When Weir opened the office door, Ronon was in fact waiting outside. Once he came in and took a place standing with his back to a wall, Weir asked him, "What would you like to tell us?"

"There's a planet, Belkan, good for trade and information. I could find out if anything unusual happened with the Wraith in the last couple days."

"Like what?" Ford asked.

"The Wraith have some kind of telepathy. One Ascending could make them all curious or make them try to Ascend. Or maybe he got out some sort of message to tell them about Sateda or Earthlings or to wake up a bunch more."

Ronon stopped there, and the room was silent as they all contemplated how little they knew or could do about any of it. At least that's what Carson was thinking about before Rodney came bursting in with Kusanagi right behind him.

"Carson, guess what—" Rodney looked around and then glared accusingly at Carson. "Are you all meeting about John without me? Is that why you told me I should go work? He's my minion, mine, so that would be low, except, I figured out that new triangular crystal and in addition to solving a lot of other problems, we can prove John was telling the truth." His chin jutted out in an expression that was smug, even for Rodney.

"You did this all yourself?" Carson said with a pointed look at Kusanagi.

"Out of everything I said, that's what you're focused on? Fine, I drew on data that Kusanagi and Zelenka brought back from the set up on Sateda. I think Zelenka is preparing a spreadsheet and bullet points about defenses and tracking Runners for whenever the next staff meeting we're invited to happens. With the re-charging crystal, we were able to bring all three of Atlantis' original ZedPMs up to full power. All sorts of capabilities have come online."

Ronon's eyes shifted at the mention of Runners, but he didn't say anything.

"Defenses? What about weapons?" Ford asked. "And what does some Wraith Ascending have to do with charging three ZPMs?"

"Don't you have people to brief you on things you're too slow to catch the first time? Are all your accusations against John because you need a remedial tutor?"

Rodney's attack sounded desperate compared to his usual rhetoric, and Ford blanched at what might be a hint of truth. No one was at their best right now, but Carson stepped in to keep the peace. "Everyone may not have had time to review the story song sent out before we detected the storm. It gave the history of a device for recharging three ZedPMs that required ATA and ATC gene carriers to each have a hand on the device when the Wraith Ascended. Guide apparently grabbed Library Bard as a worshipper to oversee this process with the device on Sateda."

"Why three?" Weir asked.

"Maybe they're affiliated with the Ramans, or obsessed with triangles. I don't care." Rodney was red in the face. His hands clenched tightly to the scanner he was holding, and even Kusanagi, standing just behind him, shifted nervously. "John's 24 hours are almost up, so Kusanagi and I hacked through the Atlantis public address system. Sure enough, it keeps recent recordings. It should have the whole conversation between John and Bates out at grounding station three."

Weir said, "What do you mean by 'should have'? I assume you checked."

"There's an entry, but it's behind a biological lock so John has to give access." Rodney hefted the Ancient scanner he was holding as a hint to those who weren't keeping up.

"You know, it could as easily incriminate him," Ford said.

Rodney glared at Ford as his chin clenched. "I know John. Shall we go tell him what we found?"

Ford forced his way into the lead. He checked with the guards outside John's door to make sure no one had been in his room during their meeting. Even Carson thought that was pointless given all the other ways to communicate or presumably sneak into or out of the room, but he gladly brought up the rear.

#

John was a little surprised when Ford came rushing into his hospital room. Then Ronon, Weir, Rodney, Kusanagi, and Carson crowded in, and John worried that he was about to end up in a cell again. It helped a lot that Carson had fed him up and let him sleep first. Next time he was alone with Rodney, John needed to tell him about how he needed to eat whenever he was injured and healing.

For now, Rodney leaned in by his bed and said, "Our new fully powered Atlantis has some sort of recording of you and Bates out at grounding station three. Just touch the highlighted entry on the screen and think on."

John started to reach but then said, "You're sure that's all it will unlock?"

Rodney blushed, and John was sure he knew the sorts of things John was thinking about. "All the recordings we've found seem to be from public areas where the public address speakers are. And Kusanagi and I both checked, so that's genius plus one."

"He confirmed after I explained the system and applicable biological locks to him," Kusanagi said.

Rodney's brow furrowed. "We'll talk about that later. Don't you want this, John?"

Much as he knew it would be painful to hear, John was grateful to Rodney, Kusanagi, and Atlantis for coming to his rescue within his 24 hour reprieve. If this could keep him out of a cell—and maybe get him out of the infirmary—he was more than willing to play the recording. That's what he was thinking as he touched the device.

The recording was audio only and John worried at first that the storm had drowned out any words. Then he heard the distinctive sound of the grounding rod decoupling. A moment later there was a thud and a startled "Erp!" that John didn't want to admit to. It was creepy to hear himself being assaulted and dragged. Then they reached the fight and conversation. John felt betrayed and hopeless all over again.

_"Today's transmission from Earth said the Daedalus should reach us within two weeks," Bates practically shouted over the wind, "but they think there's a bounty hunter on board gunning for you. Your old man died and your brother is offering millions for proof you can't contest the will."_

_"Davey?"_

"What's that sound?" Ford asked as the door whooshed open.

It really was louder than doors tended to be on Atlantis. John said, "The door opened. I don't know why. Air pressure maybe."

Everyone listened through the rest until John's footsteps receded and the recording ended.

"You didn't stop to see if he was dead?" Ford asked.

"So he could try to kill me or we could both die from taking too long?"

"John barely made it back as it was," Rodney said.

"How'd you out fight a Marine?" Ford asked.

John shrugged. He wasn't about to mention the wheel or bars he'd practiced on in his Bug Boy cage.

"Extraordinary feats have been documented when people are fighting for their lives." Carson moved to stand beside John. "What I'm wondering is why Bates wasn't quarantined to begin with."

"It sounds like he planned all this after hearing about the bounty hunter yesterday," Weir said.

"Shoot," Ford whispered, "He'd already completed the databurst check when he volunteered to stay on Atlantis."

"Then he deleted that item before sending our copies. We can verify when Earth sends a repeat of the transmission." Weir turned to face Ford. "Did you have any indication Bates might do something like this?"

Ford shook his head.

John thought of the things Ford had done to him that he never would have expected based on what he'd known of the man back in Antarctica. He'd thought of Ford as his little brother once, and since then both Ford and Davey had betrayed him.

"Did Atlantis let everyone come back from Sateda?" John asked.

"Aye, it's possible Bates stayed behind to avoid detection in addition to finding it a convenient opportunity." Carson had his hand on John's shoulder and was trying to be reassuring.

"The protocols still seem to be in place," Kusanagi volunteered.

That was the reassurance John really wanted. It meant that maybe Ford hadn't truly turned against him but had only given in to a few poor decisions. He wondered if the same could be true of Davey, the kid would only be eighteen after all.

"This means John's free to go, right?" Rodney asked.

#

Ronon followed along as the command staff moved their meeting to McKay's lab. Rodney insisted Kusanagi keep them from touching anything and kick them out if they said anything stupid, because he was staying to help John. Marie promised Carson she'd sedate any military personnel who interfered with her patients, the Wraith worshippers who were entering withdrawal.

Once in the lab, Ronon waited patiently while Ford asked Zelenka about every bullet point involving the city's weapons or defenses now that they had three fully charged ZPMs. Zelenka gave the military commander an Ancient device with what he called an "interactive map" and that seemed to end Ford's questioning for a while.

"What did you find about Runners?" Ronon asked.

"John started a background program running four days ago—" Zelenka began.

"What?" Ford asked.

"When he sat in control chair. He thought a question the same as he did about weapons and energy systems." Ford grumbled and went back to pinching and poking his interactive map. Zelenka continued, "To conserve power, it was only a passive monitor on the Gate system, noting when Wraith pinged the frequency for tracking devices and where pings came back."

"You know where all the Runners are?" Ronon asked.

"No," Zelenka rubbed at his glasses. "We know where they were for the last one to four days. No new pings have gone out since Guide Ascended."

"Does that mean…" Weir let her question trail off.

"I need to go to Belkan, right away. Runners don't stay in one place long and they don't talk to anyone. If the Wraith are no longer chasing them for whatever reason, we need to let them know."

"I'll prepare a surgery to remove their trackers, just in case." Carson looked eager as only a healer could at the thought of surgery.

"We're not bringing them here," Ford said.

"The Gate won't let them through if they're a threat," Carson argued.

"We don't understand the quarantine that well." Zelenka rubbed his glasses harder. Kusanagi nodded her agreement.

Ford put his foot down, literally. "I'm still not sure letting Ronon come and go is a good idea, but if he goes, he can't tell anyone about us, and he definitely can't bring anyone back."

"This would take a longer discussion than we have time for," Weir said.

Ronon agreed with their concerns but felt bad for his healer. He turned to Kusanagi, "Show me the last Gate addresses for the Runners." Ronon looked at the list of seven planets. "I know a couple other places, no people. Good defensible caves. You could set up an emergency surgery and back up site at one. Then you could meet with the Runners without them knowing about Atlantis. Later, dial through there before dialing here, so no one sees your real address."

Weir and Ford both looked at Ronon like he'd grown another head. Carson wasn't sure if they were more surprised by his offer, his insights, or the length of his speech. But Carson knew he could negotiate the details with them while Ronon visited Belkan for information. This was their chance to get the expedition back on track and doing what they'd intended from the start. It didn't hurt to know that he'd be setting up a surgery on another planet and doing something to help the people of Pegasus.

#

"I was planning to go back to my room and shower," John said as the transporter opened at the ground floor of the main tower.

"You're going to like what I have to show you so much." Rodney didn't usually try to surprise him, and John wasn't sure he liked surprises. But Rodney had his hand on John's shoulder, and after twenty-four hours in the infirmary and all that had come before, John would have done anything for his touch. "Working at full power, all sorts of information and facilities have become available on Atlantis. There's a whole set of agricultural buildings we're calling the food pier that Brown and I want to put you and Parrish in charge of in place of your greenhouse shift. And you better set one of those buildings up for Earth plants, because it turns out Parrish brought coffee seeds. But that can wait until tomorrow. I told Zelenka we'd check out a certain new facility personally, before letting everyone else know."

"What if we get in trouble for being out of bounds without a military escort? I don't think I can deal with being locked up again right now."

Rodney stopped and turned to face John, raising his other hand so he held John by both shoulders. "I swear I won't let them. This is outside, by the greenhouse, not off limits."

"Maybe you should message Carson just in case."

Rodney looked like he might rant and wave his hands, but then he pulled back and typed a frantic message into his tablet. "There, I cited both scientific and medical reasons for our current assignment. Happy? Can I at least try to make you happy?"

Looking at Rodney's lopsided half smile, John couldn't help but smile back. This time Rodney placed his hand at the small of John's back as he led him out along the pier and past the greenhouse. John had assumed the medical reasons mentioned involved John needing more sunlight, but the sun was already setting behind a dark sea into a pinkish gold sunset.

They stopped by a series of six small round pools that John remembered seeing through the greenhouse windows at some point. He'd guessed they were intended for fresh water collection or aquaculture of some kind. Up close now, he could see they had a spiraling shelf half way down and cleaning robots, like the ones that cleaned the greenhouse windows. These operated underwater and were more dome that disk shaped. He started to analyze their movement patterns along the concave circular surfaces in comparison to those used inside on rectangular greenhouse windows.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

"The cleaning robots seem to use an inward clockwise spiral and then an outward counterclockwise spiral, but I'm guessing they have object detection and intensive spot cleaning algorithms like the ones in the greenhouse."

McKay stared at him open-mouthed. "Here I'm thinking as if I'm taking you on a date to Roman baths or outdoor hot tubs, and you're thinking algorithms and math. I've only ever been in the reverse of this situation, but I am so hot for your brain right now."

"You said we were checking it out for work." John smiled but moved closer until his side brushed against Rodney.

"How about if we dangle our feet in to test the robots' object detection and you can see how well Atlantis adjusts this water temperature to your liking."

It sounded good to John, although the idea of a little robot bumping into his feet was also disturbingly appealing. "Do we need to test the water first or make sure it doesn't connect to a clean water supply or something?"

"Give the genius some credit, I checked all that when details showed up on our new city maps. These were meant to be public baths, and the city has all sorts of sensors and filters to keep them safe. But you can check with the handheld scanner if you want." Rodney handed him the Ancient scanner he carried on his belt now.

John thought it on and a screen appeared showing the mineral content, acidity, and temperature of each pool. Then if offered him hot tub options like bubbles and jets.

"Okay, we can soak our feet. But I didn't bring a swimsuit."

"You don't need a swimsuit for public baths," Rodney smirked.

For the time being, John rolled his pants up to his knees and sat at the nearest pool. As the water heated, the temperature on the Ancient scanner added labels in Fahrenheit. Rodney glanced as he sat down and muttered "heathen" so John asked it to include Celsius as well. When it leveled off at 102 degrees Fahrenheit (39 Celsius), John thought it was perfect and mentally requested bubbles. John watched as a cleaning robot reversed directions a couple inches before encountering his legs. The bubbles did not confuse its sensors.

"While I was stuck in bed, I watched the music story about Guide and the silent video Zelenka made of his Ascension." John fluttered his feet underwater.

"I saw the Ascension clip and heard the whole music story while installing the recharging crystal. I think Kusanagi is trying to memorize the music story by playing it continuously in lab." Rodney brushed his leg against John's underwater. He was sitting on John's blue side but didn't seem to care.

"Guide was so alien that I felt a little more human by comparison, but then Ronon is both alien and human. So suddenly feeling alienated is really confusing."

"We don't fit in. Most of the best people don't," Rodney said.

"I'm not sure being alienated by your intelligence is the same as being half blue where everyone can see."

"Maybe if I could keep my mouth shut, but I never could. I never expected anyone to accept me the way you do."

A torrent of previous assumptions cascaded through John's mind. Maybe he wouldn't be isolated forever, even if he wasn't sure how long this thing with Rodney would last or where it would lead. "Before you I didn't think I cared what people thought of me. I wasn't sure if I cared about them or wanted to keep living in their world."

"Did you rescue people from the fire at Serano's Wonders because you cared about them or because some part of you wanted to die?"

John shrugged. "I didn't think of it that way. My best hope at the time was that exposure to fire would either finish transforming me into something else, maybe something that could fly, or that it would burn off the blue or make it less noticeable or something. I couldn't imagine leaving anyone to die, but I wouldn't have expected them to risk anything for me or see me as one of them."

Rodney caught one of John's feet between his own. "We're alike there. I figure it's not paranoia or low self-esteem if you know people can't cope with the ways you're different. Just stupid people, listening to even stupider people. You know, that pretty much describes the military, at least here."

"I used to think about joining the Air Force, so I could fly." John sighed, relaxing back onto his arms. "I mean, it was just a day dream, in case I woke up one day and wasn't blue."

"You, in the military?" Rodney batted John's hair and laughed. "To fully test out the baths, we really should get naked and soak."

#

Rodney hadn't expected John to strip off his clothes and slide into the pool without further argument. He did notice the bubbles increased as he was scrambling to catch up. It was fully dark now, especially in the shadows to the side of the pier where they were.

John leaned against the far side of the pool and said, "Jets! It's like a backrub."

"Have you ever been in a hot tub or jacuzzi?" Rodney asked as he settled nearby.

"I think I remember being in a bathtub as a kid." It made Rodney sad to hear it, but John only said, "This is great."

"Of course, it was my idea."

"Not like the Ancients built the pools."

"But I brought you. Want me to try some underwater massage?"

"No way, it's my turn to touch you." John reached out a hand to stroke Rodney's chest. It wasn't light or flirtatious, and John didn't touch so much as a nipple, but Rodney was half hard in moments anyway.

"You like that," John asked.

"I'd probably like anything you do to me," Rodney said.

"Right now, I just need to touch." John's eyes were focused on Rodney's deltoid, which he was stroking and outlining with his fingers. It wasn't until John's palm brushed a nipple that John seemed to notice Rodney's growing erection. "You want to keep doing this here?"

"I want to keep doing this. I don't mind a bit of exhibitionism if that's what you're worried about."

John closed his eyes for a moment. "I don't think I'd want anyone to watch us actually having sex or to come in the pool, but I don't mind making out." He moved to straddle Rodney's knees and ran both hand up and down brushing nipples and more.

Rodney shivered but managed to ask, "You just don't mind?"

"It's hard to know what I feel in general, like how I'd feel about exhibitionism or PDAs. I've never done anything like that and didn't expect to. But I want to touch you, and you can tell I'm turned on."

John hadn't sat far enough up Rodney's thighs for their cocks to actually touch, but looking down through the bubbles he could see John was hard too. "The specs say it would filter out completely within two hours, just in case."

John ran his hands along Rodney's sides but didn't scoot in any closer. Accepting that the touching probably wasn't really about sex for John right now, Rodney tried to relax back and let John do what he wanted. Mostly he seemed to want to map and touch every inch of Rodney's skin. Occasionally he tried some of the massage techniques that Rodney had used on him. They did brush against each other's cocks a few times, and that was…challenging for Rodney to ignore. But it all felt good, and he thought he could develop a kink for extended foreplay, if that was even a thing.

"Brought some towels." Rodney eyes opened wide the instant Ronon spoke. He hadn't realized they were closed or how distracted he was until that moment. John went still in his lap and didn't seem inclined to turn around to deal with the Satedan.

"Uh, thanks," Rodney said.

"Also some water." Ronon set a closed container and two glasses at the side of the pool. "Carson said not to let John get dehydrated and to use the oil he gave you afterward."

By this point Rodney was more aware, noticing that Ronon had a leather bag across his back and wondering why Carson had sent the other man. "Are you on your way someplace?"

"Trade world to collect intel. Meeting isn't over, but Carson will probably set up at an alpha site to treat Runners and more. Good that you looked for them, John."

John carefully turned to look over his shoulder. "Uh, no problem."

Ronon left without another word.

"You want some water?" Rodney asked.

"I'm not sure I'm ready for people to see us this way. I just found out."

Rodney suppressed a laugh, but couldn't help a crooked smile. "Should we head back to our rooms?"

John nodded and headed for the towels.

#

In bed that night, Rodney rubbed oil into his skin with the sort of touching that resulted in mutually awesome orgasms. Afterward, John lay beside Rodney thinking.

"Is something keeping you awake?" Rodney asked, nudging his foot against John's.

"I decided what I feel is specific to you."

"Well, thanks I think."

John found Rodney's hand and squeezed. He didn't know how people were supposed to discuss these things, but he and Rodney had pretty much agreed they didn't have to fit in with other people. It seemed easier for John to understand himself if he could put his feelings into words for Rodney. "I told you when I was horny before I wasn't sure if it was for males or females or even people?"

"I remember," Rodney said, turning his head to watch John in the mostly dark room.

"Well, I'm still not sure about other people, but I definitely get turned on for you in a way I never did for anyone or anything else. When I was touching you, it wasn't only about being able to touch a person. It was specific to you. I don't know if what I feel is like having a crush or love or being in love. Other than television and stuff online, I don't think I know what those words mean. But what I feel is very specific to you, and it is sort of overwhelming and big. I thought you should know."

"Wow," Rodney rolled into one of his favorite sleep positions, with his head resting on John's chest and one leg partially on top of John's. "No one's ever said anything like that to me before. I'd worry that this may be a bit of a honeymoon period and you might mostly be reacting to doing stuff with me that you've never done with anyone else. But I'm selfish enough to hope you don't get over it. I know what you mean about the words being applied in all sorts of ways in popular media, and I sometimes thought the whole notion of being in love was a stupid way to describe hormones and physical reactions. But it's different with you. If I ever loved or was in love with anyone, then it's you. If nothing else, I'm really appreciative of every moment you spend with me, whether like this or in the lab or eating lunch together. I definitely never appreciated anyone else as much I do you."

John pulled him closer. The word "clingy" came to mind and he didn't want to be that, but he didn't want to let go either. "If we tried other stuff, like more sex stuff, and it didn't work out, do you think we could still have this or at least not get weird."

"You have no idea how much I want to try other sex stuff with you. I will do my best to not get weird. Now tell me what you've thought about trying." Rodney's hand slid down to caress John's thigh. It wasn't overtly sexual, but sex was clearly on both their minds now.

John answered immediately. "Well, blow jobs for sure, anal either way if you want, and what you said about robots one time sort of stuck in my mind."

"Oh god," Rodney panted and pushed his suddenly hard cock into John's thigh. "I want to show you everything at once. Can I blow you and maybe finger you right now?"

"Sure." John drew the word out like a surfer or southerner. "But it seems that you like just hearing me talk about being sucked and fucked and—"

"Of course you'd jump from zero to a hundred in under a minute. I am going to make you come so hard you won't believe it's the second time in one night."

"Ooooh, that makes me think maybe sometime we should count how often each of us could come in one night." Rodney swallowed the tip of his cock before he could even finish the sentence. John's body tensed and raised off the bed, but Rodney pressed him down with one hand and shifted to a better position between his legs. It made John so hard he kind of ached. He'd bet he was leaking, but he couldn't he tell with Rodney's hot wet mouth on his cock.

He could smell Rodney leaking, just from sucking him, or maybe from his words. John tried to think of more words as he let his fingers glide through Rodney's hair. "I feel your head bobbing up and down with my hand, but my cock is just—like it's overwhelmed with the best touch ever. I don't even know exactly what you're doing." John moaned and lost his words for a moment. "Okay, that was a circle with your tongue. And I really want to try that on you sometime because—"

It happened again and John was straining against the hand holding him down. One of Rodney's hands was wrapped around the base of John's cock and the other cradled his balls and pressed in behind them. "Oh god, I'm going to come Rodney. I don't know—" Rodney's tongue traced his slit. Then Rodney sucked hard and started to swallow around John's length. It was like Rodney swallowed everything. All John felt was his orgasm, a pulsing all through him, lights flashing behind his eyes. It went on and on.

He drifted back into feeling his whole body. Rodney was over him, on his hands and knees now like a table. His eyes and pupils were wide, watching, waiting.

When John blinked up at him, Rodney lifted John's hand in front of his mouth. "Can I?"

John nodded eagerly even if his brain hadn't quite caught up. Rodney licked John's hand desperately, with the tongue that had licked his cock. John thought that was hot.

Then Rodney brought John's hand down to Rodney's very erect cock and wrapped both of their hands around it. Rodney's hand was on the outside, setting a fierce and fast pace. The physicist pumped into the motion, controlling all the pieces like a well-oiled machine and then coming like crazy all over John's stomach.

John watched his face. His eyes closed, lids twitching through to the eyelashes. His muscles shone with sweat as they pumped and shuddered. Finally, everything relaxed, barely balanced above John before collapsing to the side.

Now John understood why Rodney had been watching him before. Even beyond the sex, John wanted many more opportunities to watch Rodney come apart like that.

#

It was midday on Belkan when Ronon arrived. The shift from night to bright daylight had been commonplace in his years as a Runner and before. After three years of never leaving Atlantis, the sudden glare and noise made him smile.

He wiped the enthusiasm from his face. A traveler's song from a music story about the wonders of travel filled his mind with new meaning. Ronon retreated to a patch of shadow to assess for changes and hazards.

The guard watching the Gate seemed to dismiss him. Ronon thought it poor training to let an artless show of enthusiasm diminish the threat of a warrior. But he was traveling alone. Most visitors to market would step in to prevent a lone man from wreaking havoc, if only for the sake of business.

The marketplace was hung with triangular flags, as it had been years ago when Ronon visited with his regiment on leave. The crowd buzzed with rumors about the Wraith. That suggested some larger effect from Guide's Ascension. No one mentioned Guide or Sateda. Several claimed to have seen Wraith disappear mid-culling, but when Ronon sought details he found only two credible witnesses.

A brightly clad man claimed to be from a planet called Liho. He wouldn't share the Gate address, but the simultaneous columns of light he described, where Wraith disappeared just in front of their Gate, matched the Ascension Ronon had witnessed. The timing matched, too.

An elder woman claimed to have been on a pilgrimage to the stone circle on Stassen, when a group of Wraith worshippers came through wailing that all the gods had Ascended, leaving them behind. Ronon listened attentively as a small crowd formed around the woman. "When I finally made my own way to the stone circle, after so many steps on sore feet with my bad hip, what a sight met my poor tired eyes. All of those Wraith worshippers had killed themselves, driven their own daggers into their throats or chests, like some horrible ritual. They lay there bleeding out, right there on holy ground. Couldn't even move them away, as it's a place to recognize all forms of offering or meditation."

Ronon was through the Gate to Stassen and back before an evening crowd could gather at the tavern on Belkan. The elder's story at least was accurate and verifiable. The stories in the tavern seemed even less likely to be true than those he'd heard earlier. Everyone claimed to have seen Wraith vanish or to have a relative who'd seen and hurried to tell them.

One voice sounded more certain. "I heard a Wraith ship crashed and the pilot seat was empty," a large man in trader's garb announced. "Cost you to find out where, of course."

The man wasn't specifically addressing Ronon, but when no one else spoke Ronon said, "Not worth much if all the Wraith are gone."

"Hah, a day or two with no refugees doesn't mean they're gone. Could be wishful thinking." The trader raised his glass. "There are those who would pay to salvage from the ship."

A smaller man next to him said, "Bad luck to take anything made by Wraith."

"Well if you think they're gone for good, any retribution is probably gone with them," the trader said. He turned toward Ronon, "You wouldn't happen to be Satedan, would you? I've seen others with tattoos like yours, if you're interested in finding them."

"Why should I care?" Ronon knew better than to show obvious interest.

"A friend of mine, Solen, says the whole planet was culled but for two or three hundred." The trader smiled with too many teeth, "Give me your name, and I'll pass it on to him at least."

The smaller man snorted. "Some friend, you'd probably charge him for it. I'd tell him for free." The trader waved a hand and made his way to the other end of the bar. "My name's, ZoZo. You can call me Zo. Solen comes in here often enough, and I'm here most times. Buy me a drink, and I'll pass along any message you want, or not."

Solen Sincha had been part of Ronon's regiment. If he were alive, the price of a drink was little enough to pay to find out. Zo might not be the most reliable source, but with his new drink in hand, he gave a detailed enough description to prove they were talking about the same Solen. It felt right to know, even if their visit to the tavern as a regiment seemed a lifetime ago. And if Solen said there were 200 or more survivors from Sateda, that was very good to hear. A couple of years ago, Ronon would have hurried to find them.

Now, Ronon didn't give his name to Zo. He figured a description would be enough for Solen. Ronon's name wouldn't do any more good so long as he couldn't say where he was living now. Soon enough he hoped to return to Belkan to share new knowledge as a bard. He wondered how his planet's remaining people would view his music story honoring the fall of Sateda.

Then Zo let slip, "Solen doesn't work with Kell's group. Seems to be hard feelings over something that happened in their last battle on Sateda. Still, if you wanted a fightin' job, Kell has a whole team of Satedans he hires out."

Zo was probably too drunk to notice how Ronon reached for his weapons at the mention of Kell's name. A meeting. Ronon would be hard pressed not to kill the traitor if he saw him. Whatever business the man was in now, it would be a public service to remove him. A traitor once over could never be trusted again.

A couple of years ago, Ronon would have killed his former taskmaster without pause.

A couple of years ago, Ronon hadn't worked through his grief and embedded the man's betrayal into a music story he might soon be able to share.

A couple of years ago, Ronon wasn't pursuing a relationship with Carson and an alliance with his people.

None of that meant he wouldn't kill the traitor under the right circumstance. But now wasn't the time to pursue such confrontations. Ronon had Runners to find and news to relay. He had more urgent work to do.

#

Rodney dragged John into the infirmary. "Carson, the blue skin is getting better, but nothing you suggested is helping with the nerve pinching or other pain that keeps John from sleeping."

Carson was moving along a wall of shelves checking off a list on his tablet, so Rodney was forced to follow along as he complained.

"Let me go." John pulled his hand away but followed where Rodney led.

"I'm a wee bit busy, in case you hadn't noticed. We're setting up a surgery at the alpha site to help the Runners that John used the chair to find, if you remember."

"But John was your patient first!"

"Rodney," John hissed.

"Isometric exercises and changes in diet don't show results as fast as topical treatments. If John has further concerns, he can speak for himself. Otherwise, I'll check once a week."

"I'm not concerned," John said.

Now John was trying to grab Rodney's hand to pull him away, but the scientist needed both hands to emphasize his next request. "Fine, at least authorize us to use the chair. Now that we're at full power, there might be other medical information that would help John. He can send copies for you to read when you have the Runners all sorted out."

"Yes, yes, fine." Carson waved them off. Rodney wasted no time in making their way to the control chair.

"Wait, was that your goal the whole time?" John asked in the hall.

Rodney smiled and said, "Genius, remember?"

#

Sitting in the control chair half an hour later, John had the strange but comforting feeling that Atlantis understood him better now. When he framed a thought about medical information that might pertain to John and be useful to Carson, something like a web diagram spread out in his mind's eye. It showed John and Carson surrounded by key words that connected to other topics and several interconnections. John knew that each of those topics could generate a similar web of its own if he asked. He knew he could pass it all on to Carson in this format with just a thought. "You know how I asked Atlantis to send reports to other consoles before?"

Rodney sighed from where he was probably hunched over an Ancient console as well as his tablet, "Yes, I am aware of that rather major development from less than a week ago."

"Well, that was when we had to be careful not to ask too much or use much power. Now that the city has three fully charged ZPMs and we can probably recharge them at will, is there any reason not to make as much information as possible available for ourselves and Carson without me having to sit in this chair." The chair adjusted minutely in a way that supported John's back and ass a little better. It also showed a picture of the console he and Rodney used in the main physics lab. "I think I could also open a channel to your lab to let us query the control chair remotely."

"You can do that?"

A diagram of task they could authorize to run remotely scrolled quickly through John's mind. "Looks like. I mean, it would be kind of ridiculous for the Ancients to have to sit in this chair anytime they wanted information. Although there are some actions, like firing drones or flying the city, that appear to need special access to the chair or something else that I haven't quite figured out." There was something like a hidden command line, not another chair but possibly tied to a physical object. For some reason Atlantis wouldn't show him a clear image or offer precise information, only a hint that there was an alternative. "I can see how to add secure access for you and me from the console in your lab. I may not be able to see as many options or let Atlantis guide me as completely from there, but we can have full access to data."

"Then by all means, let's lay out plans to keep you and the city safe from bounty hunters, Marines, and whatever else without drawing further attention to ourselves by accessing the chair too often."

John set up their access and then switched back to the medical web he'd created. "The files Atlantis suggested I send to Carson look pretty extensive, too. Maybe we should set up special access for him from the infirmary console. We wouldn't want him to miss out on helping someone else because he personally isn't comfortable with control chairs."

Rodney sounded less pleased than John expected. "Fine, I trust Carson, but no one else for now." John made it happen with a thought and then considered if there was anything else he actually needed to be in the chair for. He poked at the systems for the new food pier and reviewed preliminary schedules for grain production, mills, aquaculture, and bushbirds—an egg laying species Atlantis assured him would taste like chicken. He realized the city was set up to feed thousands, and the greenhouse they'd been using was mostly intended to replenish unusual species in the seedbank. Requests for maintenance or assigning maintenance robots also vied for his attention. There was plenty of work to do on the food pier and to make sure the city was ready to fly or submerge if needed. "Do you want to oversee the new maintenance requests and robots being brought online?"

"Busy," Rodney said in his usual distracted tone. "Put Zelenka in charge of that. I'm already sending him the minions with new research requests."

It wasn't clear to John if Zelenka would appreciate the extra authority or feel like a glorified assistant, but as Rodney's less than glorified assistant, he did as he was told.

While it still wasn't the most physically comfortable place in Atlantis, John felt like there was more he should be able to do. He felt some sort of connection to Atlantis all the time, but sitting in the chair he felt some greater potential, something he didn't quite understand yet but wanted to. There were hints of a Lantean lockout device that had been hidden away. John stayed in the chair a couple of extra minutes but couldn't quite figure it out.

#

Carson was beyond tired when Ronon brought the final Runner through to the alpha site Gate. Ronon had his blaster pointed at her head. The woman was muscular and young but wiry thin and scarred. She had fresh bandages wrapped around her ribs and one knee that were obviously from the first aid supplies Ronon had been carrying. Her hands were bound behind her back and her feet hobbled. Still, she snarled at the armed guards posted around the Gate.

Two of the Runners Ronon had found previously he'd reported as feral or crazy. They wouldn't listen to what he had to say about the Wraith. They wouldn't come in for medical care. He'd told Carson he'd shouted out the beta site Gate address, where they could go if they changed their minds. It was another unoccupied planet. Zelenka had set up a way to track its Gate activation and record video remotely of anyone going there. Ronon had carved sigils into rocks near that Gate. He said most Runners and refugees would recognize them. Carson was reminded of cases involving isolated Japanese soldiers found years after WWII, how some readjusted to society but some were almost feral and couldn't accept the truth.

But Ronon hadn't left this woman alone with the beta site Gate address. The big man also had a fresh bandage wrapped around his own bicep and what had to be the woman's pack on his back.

Carson's didn't like seeing Ronon hurt or the way his own guard and every expedition member on the planet now had a weapon in hand. Trying to keep the situation from escalating, the doctor said, "I thought we agreed not to bring any Runners in by force."

Ronon did not take his eyes or blaster off his target as he said, "She demanded proof. Seems her healer—one she believes to be the best anywhere—told her Runners' trackers couldn't be removed. I offered to show her the trackers we'd already taken out and our evidence that the Wraith had Ascended." Ronon snorted then, almost sounding amused. "She agreed but wouldn't swear not to hurt anyone here. Tied her with her own ropes just in case."

After reporting back with rumors of Wraith Ascending in the middle of a culling and visiting another planet where a circle of Wraith worshippers had killed themselves over losing the Wraith, Ronon had insisted that he track each Runner alone. He'd convinced Weir and Ford that he didn't have time to teach their forces to evade the Runners' traps. Weir probably guessed that Ronon was being diplomatic and didn't want to say the expedition forces would be more hindrance than help in tracking and persuading each Runner. Ford hadn't wanted to risk their own people for such a mission to begin with and probably wouldn't have minded if Ronon ended up dead. Still, they'd all agreed to set up the alpha site, to monitor the beta site, and to help whoever Ronon brought in.

So far, Ronon hadn't brought in any other Satedans, but Carson sensed there might be rumors he hadn't shared on that front.

As Ronon marched the last Runner to the surgery tent, Carson could see she was limping and at least one eye was infected and swollen half shut. Still, she saw their equipment and said, "You have Ancestor tech."

"And you know that because you're a Traveler," Ronon replied. "You copied my people's blaster design."

"We improve upon whatever tech we find." The Runner stood tall just inside the tent as Carson wondered what "Traveler" meant in this context.

"If you see it that way." Ronon spoke as if he didn't care. He still had his blaster ready to use as he said, "Sit on the gurney."

"Not until you show me proof of all you've said."

"We're not showing you anything while your feet touch the ground. Sit and we'll show you." He waved with his blaster.

Carson was surprised when she sat. He was more surprised that she didn't flinch as Ronon motioned two Marines into the tent behind her. "Carson, show her the box of deactivated trackers."

Private Alvarez, the Marine currently assigned to guard Carson, kept him to the far side of the tent and stayed between him and the bound woman. Carson hoped this incident was at least building trust between Ronan and the Earth military, because as a doctor, he hated seeing any patient treated this way. Nevertheless, he opened the containment box that they'd brought from Atlantis, even though they were disabling each tracker as soon as it was removed. The science team had suggested there might be dangerous substances involved or other reasons why Atlantis provided the special box. Carson put on gloves before lifting one tracker up for display.

"How many have you taken?"

"Nine, all with full consent. The first was Ronon's. He could show you the scar if he's willing to turn his back for a moment." Carson paused but Ronon ignored the hint. "My name is Dr. Carson Beckett, and I assure you we only want to offer you medical assistance. What the Wraith did to you was an atrocity. While we believe there are no Wraith left to track these devices, it is possible others could, and we don't know their long term health risks within the human body."

"Call me Luka. Use a mirror to show me his scar."

"Only what you can show without restricting my motion," Ronon said.

Taking a deep breath for patience, Carson shifted Ronon's hair and vest while positioning the mirror. "Aye, can you see now, Luka?"

"And the other eight all survived?"

"Right as rain within an hour. We helped with other injuries and let them go home."

"What's right about rain?" Luka asked. When Carson prepared to reply, she said, "Don't answer. Other than your willingness to spend time in the presence of a Runner, what proof can you offer that the Wraith are gone?"

"Since you recognize some of our equipment, can I assume you know about photographs or films?" Carson asked.

"Enough to know they can be faked." Luka shifted her position on the gurney.

"Stay still," Ronon snapped. "Any evidence can be faked. Do you want to see or not?"

She sat still and kept her back straight. "Show me what you've got."

The innuendo in Luka's tone was unmistakable and universal. Carson ignored it as he brought up a clip of Guide Ascending that showed as little as possible of the rest of that room and device. He was still very curious about the Travelers and what they knew of Ancient and other tech. Ronon and Alvarez both insisted he stay behind them as he held up his tablet to play the video. When Luka didn't say anything afterward, Carson brought up still photos. "These show a group of Wraith worshippers on Stassen who committed suicide after their Wraith Ascended, apparently simultaneously."

"Reports from Liho agreed that Wraith disappeared in the middle of a culling, each in a flash of light." Ronon's weapon was lowered, but still in his hand. Alvarez followed his lead, as did the other two Marines.

"Did their weapons and ships go with them?"

Ronon answered, "Whatever was on them went with them. At least one dart crashed. Your people scavenge Darts?"

"Parts are parts, but few would choose to fly one. I'm wondering what hostile planetary forces will do if they find Wraith weapon stashes left behind. Although an empty hiveship in a decaying orbit could also be a disaster waiting to happen. Are your forces capable of stopping that?"

"You believe us now?" Ronon asked instead of answering.

"With reasonable reservations. If you remove the tracker without damaging me, my people might be open to discussing an alliance or trade relationship."

#

"You don't trust the Travelers?" Weir asked Ronon as the command team met in the conference room nearest the Gate Room. He and Carson had returned to Atlantis to pass on Luka's offer after successful surgery on both the tracker and her eye.

"My people didn't trust them. They copied our blaster design long ago and made theirs so any thief could charge them. Rumor says, they neither trust nor respect any ground dwellers."

"Do they sell the blasters or trade in weapons?" Ford asked.

"Not that I've heard. They usually trade information for food they can't produce. It's said Travelers barely leave their ships for fear of Wraith attacks."

Carson sank back in his seat, relieved to be off his feet. "Are they the only society in Pegasus with spaceships? And are the hostile planetary forces she mentioned a common threat?"

"I haven't heard of any others with spaceships, but I bet the Travelers stole or copied theirs from someone. Securing any Wraith weapons would make sense. Some societies made war on other planets before. Some who focused on fighting the Wraith before might change goals now."

"And the Travelers might have useful intel about hostile forces or Wraith weapons stashes?" Weir asked.

"They'll have the intel. But whatever they share will be for their benefit."

"Much of diplomacy is based on identifying shared benefits and goals, not trust."

"You're not planning to tell them about Atlantis." Ford's voice carried less authority than Weir's as he leaned into his side of the triangular conference table."

"They know we have Ancient tech." Weir said. "We could land a visible Jumper at the beta site but keep a couple cloaked as a back-up force. They don't need to know where we live or how many ships we have. That tips the balance of information to our side."

"You plan to visit the beta site to negotiate?" Ford half asked and half stated.

Weir lifted her chin and looked Ford straight in the eyes. "I'll leave the security arrangements up to you, but yes. Our mission includes making contact and building alliances. That's my job. With the Daedalus on the way and the Wraith suddenly gone, this could be especially important. The beta site could be our contact point for requests and diplomacy. And it can't hurt to have allies with their own spaceships on our side."

Carson suggested, "We could ask that the alpha site be respected as a safe zone for humanitarian efforts, like a red cross camp."

"There are precedents. You should have me at the negotiations," Ronon said.

"Agreed, and I hear you and Dr. Kusanagi discussed outreach plans as well," Weir said. "I need to know in order to represent our best interests."

"We'd like to form an 'Arts Council' to plan for sharing music stories and what she calls 'good public relations.' I'd like Dr. Fiona Howard and Library Bard to be involved as well."

Weir wrinkled her forehead. "I was thinking more of tools like the Ascension video and pictures of the Wraith worshippers who committed suicide that you used to convince Luka to listen to us. Those are hardly art."

"As a bard, I know there is an art to presenting information." Ronon put both hands on the table and began. "Kusanagi has the heart of a bard. She says we need a media campaign to spread word that the Wraith are gone without giving all the credit to Guide. Library Bard is recovering and agrees the climax to her music story should show three descendants of the Ancestors came together to end the war that spanned centuries in our galaxy."

"They want to teach lessons through musicals again," Ford muttered.

"Consider," Carson put in, "that music stories are an important cultural institution in Pegasus. There is a long history of traveling bards, and if we continue with native voices and forms, we can add drone video technology to spread the message farther and faster. Kusanagi likened it to mobile libraries or bookmobiles, and I've known mobile health clinics that played a diplomatic and educational role as well. People here need to know they're safe from the Wraith. The planet Library, when it's rebuilt, and various market planets may usher in a renaissance of local culture. By including our uniform and a hint about an ATA descendant among the three that ended the war, we set ourselves up as peacemakers and allies going forward."

Ford snorted. "They're going to paint you in as a savior, you mean."

"Library Bard has agreed not to use my name, mention that I'm a healer, or depict my face clearly. Ronon will be shown as a warrior and visibly Satedan to some, but not be individually recognizable either. Seeing video drones used to project the images for music stories might also pave the way for video or photographic evidence and news."

Ronon spoke up before Weir or Ford could object. "In addition to securing advanced weapons, more equal access to information and tech will help prepare nomadic and agrarian groups for the changes that are coming anyway."

Weir nodded. "Have your Arts Council submit regular reports and set up a meeting with me when you're ready."

#

"I could earn a Nobel for the work I'm doing with forcefields," Rodney proclaimed as he hovered over the coffee maker he'd finally smuggled into their lab.

Zelenka responded from his corner workbench, "We could rival Stark's business in bots if it was fair to market any of this."

"Tech wants to be free. I'm going to rewrite a copy of John's food pier interface and release it as a game app for Stark phones." It was hard to tell when Kusanagi was joking, but John was happy to ignore them all as he played with his very real food pier interface as if it were a game. He was adapting Ancient systems to grow and process coffee, tea, and cocoa plants, which were surprisingly demanding and interesting.

"As if anyone would play a farming game on a phone," Rodney scoffed as he settled back to working silently with his latest huge mug of coffee.

#

Ronon thought Weir was right to order Carson to take a rest day, something she called a sun day although it did not seem to require being out in the sun. She specified that he should take a full two nights and a day off after they delivered their response to Luka: Their leader, Dr. Weir, would be willing to meet a Traveler leader at the beta site for discussions. As soon as Luka left through the Gate, Ford arranged for two cloaked Jumpers to take up positions while Zelenka overhauled the Gate monitoring for both the alpha site and the beta site.

Ronon decided he deserved a sun day, too. He followed Carson to the mess hall to discuss if they might rest better together. Having learned from his interview with Dr. Howard, he led Carson to a quiet table on the mess hall balcony. "The sun has already set, but I wondered if you might enjoy company for your sun day."

Carson chewed slowly and shook his head. Ronon was disappointed but understood how time alone might appeal more to others than to him at present.

"Sunday names a particular day of the week on Earth. For some, it is the day God rested after creating the heavens, the Earth, and all living things."

Ronon nodded and ate better knowing Carson wasn't rejecting his offer, only correcting a misunderstanding. He waited for Carson to say more.

"What you're asking," Carson began and then cut himself off. "I was never good at negotiating relationships on Earth. I met people who just wanted a fun night in bed, and I tried that a few times. But if I liked them, I always wanted more. I couldn't even work out how to stay friends after that. The couple of people who wanted more with me ended up angry that my work always came first. I'd pretty much given up, even with people who shared my cultural assumptions and terminology. What you seem to be suggesting is so much more complicated. I don't think I'm the right person to try for complicated. I'd rather keep you as a friend given my track record."

Ronon had to guess at the strange use of track record and wondered why anyone on Earth didn't expect a healer's work to come first. This clearly wasn't the time to point out such cultural differences. Instead he presented his strengths. "While on Sateda, I stayed friends with all of my bedmates. At least as much as we would have stayed friends otherwise. I loved a healer before and admired how her work always came first. You have given me more than fair warning. Let me accept responsibility for any consequences. I swear it will be my honor to maintain a friendship with you whatever else may transpire. I have already promised not to let anything between us limit my willingness to work with your people."

"You are persistent," Carson said. "Shall we take some tea and walk along the pier?"

Walking together after dark was a common courtship activity on Sateda, and Ronon was happy to agree. As they enjoyed the starlight and the sounds and scents of the ocean, Ronon offered, "Perhaps my thoughts on relationships are influenced by my knowledge of music stories. There is no one truth that is right for every person, pairing, or group. Some refuse to participate at all, because they've been hurt or because romance or sex does not appeal to them. Each relationship must be built together. Some pretend to build together while undermining what they share with judgments and revisions of what they remember. Others dig deep only to find some part they cannot reconcile between them. I would like to build whatever I can with you. In your work, you may be used to taking burdens upon yourself to help others. I am quite capable of supporting my share and would be willing to take on more at times, because I believe in what you do and your good intentions."

#

The words almost overwhelmed Carson. They wrapped around him like a blanket in the darkness.

If he'd doubted he could love a warrior, he didn't feel worthy of the love expressed by a bard. If it wasn't love they were talking about, then it was something very close. He couldn't believe such a strong individual would come to him with this offer. At the same time, he wanted to give himself over to that strength. From the start, when Ronon had helped with his first patient on Atlantis and then surprised him with a blatant offer of sex, Carson had felt drawn to the man but uncertain. He'd wanted more than sex, but he'd never have imagined asking for what Ronon was offering now. It wasn't that he'd fallen in love so much as he was possibly a little in love the whole time. Only now, it seemed to be more than that. "I don't have the words to tell you how I feel. I wish I did. I can't imagine why you think I'm worthy of your attentions, but I want to be worthy. I want to work with you, to build together as you put it. You may have to take the lead, to find the words or ask the questions. I'll try never to lie to you or undermine what we're building. I think that's the best I can do."

Ronon pulled him close. They were each still holding a mug of tea, but even Ronon's single free hand spread wide across Carson's back felt like a full body press. As soon as he thought of how close their chests and hips were, his body started to respond. "Perhaps we should take this back to my place?"

"Yes, and I will ask you now so you have time to think about it: Would you like to share blankets the way we did before or is there more that you would like with me tonight?" Ronon pulled away until they were only holding hands. "Take however long you want to think about it. Walking through the dark with your hand in mine is all I want for now."

As they walked, the touch of their hands warmed Carson and made him feel want in a way he barely remembered. "Is this what you meant by one point of touch being a tease?"

"Perhaps." Ronon smiled, and his dark eyes reflected individual stars. "Do you like it?"

"I do." They walked the rest of the way in silence, holding hands.

#

"What do you want now?" Ronon asked. So far a series of questions had led to both him and Carson naked in bed together. They lay on their sides, facing each other. Ronon, being larger, was able to bury his face in Carson's hair. The strange plant smells of whatever he used to wash it combined with Carson own spicy male smell seemed to fill some emptiness deep inside of Ronon. He couldn't fully ignore the way their erections brushed up against each other, but until Carson was ready for more, Ronon could content himself with incidental touches and the tickle and smell of the healer's short hair.

"I'd like to touch, without rushing, but I'm not sure how long I'll last."

"By last, you mean before orgasm?" Ronon stroked his hand slowly up Carson's back.

"Yes, but even hearing you say it makes me less likely to last." At the end of his sentence, Carson breathed deeply across the side of Ronon's neck and Ronon was caught up in just breathing with his new lover for a moment.

"Someday I would like to see how much effect my words can have on you." Ronon felt the healer shiver at that and laid his palm along the back of his neck until he felt the man relax into the touch. "For now, tell me if there is special meaning you attach to lasting longer, as you put it. My people have a way to wrap a strap of leather if a man wants to last a very long time, but only some people enjoy that sort of waiting." Ronon had never tried it himself, but he'd committed a music story with detailed illustrations to memory early in his training. It was an erotic tale detailing many sexual practices and positions that most young bards struggled to sing all the way through without losing breath control. They all sought to learn it thoroughly nonetheless.

"Och, no. What I think you're describing we might call a cock ring, and while I might like to try that sometime, I doubt it would be more than a curiosity for me. What I meant was what my people might refer to as coming 'embarrassingly fast.' It's more often a problem for teenagers, and for the most part I'd worry about taking too long at my age or not being able to perform well enough for a younger man such as yourself." Carson tensed a bit as he spoke, and Ronon stroked his side to calm him. The skin beneath his hand was remarkably soft and apparently very sensitive. His motions were not as calming as he'd intended. "Right now, I think I'd go in under a minute if we tried, but that's not how I'd want it to be this time. My exhaustion might catch up with me after, and I don't want to give this night up yet."

Ronon wished Carson didn't worry so much about sex. His eagerness and how exhausted he might be after both sounded flattering from a Satedan perspective. However, the idea that his very practical lover might cherish the memory of their first time was enough to keep him to more sensual touching for now. Soon Carson was mirroring his moves, seeming to follow Ronon's lead. It was like breathing together, an extra layer of sharing the experience. "I hope to spend all of tomorrow and tomorrow night with you, if you'll let me. But I know how many people attach significance to their first time together, even if I would not have thought the heightened sensitivity you describe to be anything to be embarrassed about. Tell me if you ever want me to slow down or pause. Otherwise know that I seek only to bring pleasure to us both and am already euphoric with what we share tonight."

Carson shivered and Ronon realized that emotional declarations might affect his lover as much or more than erotic descriptions. Hoping to allow more time for simple touches and exploration, Ronon kept quiet. He let his hands wander freely, reveling in Carson's truly luxurious skin. He tried to avoid the genitals, but they seemed to lean into each other more and more as the need to touch grew between them.

Finally, when Ronon's fingertips chanced to brush lightly across Carson's nipple, the smaller man arched against him and moaned. Ronon couldn't resist circling his fingers as if he was playing an instrument.

The way they moved against each other then was nothing so frantic as rutting, but their cocks brushed together or beside each other more often than not. The pace was building between them and both were leaking enough to make the friction delicious.

"Please," Ronon said, "let me take us both in hand."

"Yes," Carson whispered and then was gasping against Ronon's neck.

It felt completely natural for Ronon to slide his hand across damp skin until he held both their cocks loosely. Carson's noises became higher in pitch. He gave himself so completely to sensation that Ronon was sure they'd waited long enough. Ronon tightened his fingers and his thumb slid across to tease both their slits. He could feel the pulse building before Carson shot against him. That sensation and the gasp of "Ronon" against his neck was enough to send Ronon off so hard he could barely control his grip. Somehow, he stroked them both through it.

They were left panting, sweet exhaustion sliding in like a caress rather than something unwelcome. Carson pulled several very fine sheets of paper from a box by the bed, and fumbled to clean them both. Realizing the texture was like the paper used in their bathrooms, Ronon appreciated the foresight in keeping them close at hand. He pulled a few sheets to clean his hand, then a couple more to help Carson clean them both.

Carson was working with his eyes closed. He dropped the dirtied papers into a basket by the bed with an impressive spatial awareness. Ronon followed his example. He was pleased when rather than pulling away, Carson went limp in his arms, falling asleep still pressed up against him. It took Ronon's breathing a little longer to calm, but soon the warmth of both their bodies and emotions pulled him peacefully into sleep.

#

It hadn't been John's intention to spy on anyone. There was a cold rain outside, and John had needed some time alone after dark. The roof of the seedbank provided a safe and isolated spot to watch the rain while keeping warm.

Kusanagi and Weir seemed to have chosen it for their own version of privacy. From a brief reflection in the ceiling, John saw they walked hand in hand. But from their discussion, he wasn't sure if that implied any sort of relationship.

"Would it be better if I did or didn't ask before using Atlantis footage in a piece of art?"

"I assume we're discussing the politics of deniability." There was a pause before Weir added, "You were the one who discovered that Atlantis had footage of more than the Gate Room and the cells. That was part of your job and helped us all. Within the group of people cleared to know about Atlantis, I don't see why pictures and video from public places would be subject to any other than the same fair use rules meant to protect freedom of the press and freedom of speech within our charter."

Kusanagi cheerfully volunteered, "Atlantis requires me to get permissions from certain individuals for some of the footage."

"Whoever's the strongest gene carrier?"

"For the surgery on arrival, there was a biological lock for both Carson and Ronon."

"Interesting. I didn't know Ronon could do that." John hadn't either. Maybe he should see about working on Kusanagi's projects more often. She had a knack for cool discoveries.

"I don't know if Ronon or Atlantis 'does' it, but he was the first to hide from our sensors as well." John thought he should work on that himself with his Life Signs Detector.

"Are you working with security on that?" Weir asked.

"We'll be ready if security makes a reasonable request for our help."

"I might be better off not hearing reports on your specific progress with that." John understood Weir's position, but now he really wanted to spend some time working with Kusanagi.

"Care to join me for tea before bed?" John had no intention of following to find out what came next.

#

Ronon spent "Sunday" morning learning about his lover. Even when they weren't discussing sex, it was far too easy to woo Carson with honest words of caring. The way Carson responded so openly to simple words and actions made Ronon even more protective of the man.

When Ronon said, "If your mum will share her recipe, I'll learn how to make chicken soup for when you're sick."

Carson said, "Don't be ridiculous. I'm a doctor and have been taking care of myself for years."

"The way you talk about your Mum says you miss being taken care of. You love her. That does honor to her and you. But she's also the only person you talk about caring for you. I want to care for you, too." Carson settled his head against Ronon's chest as they lay lazily together on Carson's bed. Ronon stroked his hair. "If you get sick, I want to make you chicken soup. It won't replace your Mum's, but I want to learn. Don't you have stories about love that include wanting to take care of someone or wanting to be taken care of? If not, there are music stories I must share with you very soon."

Carson threw an arm across Ronon's chest and stroked Ronon's side with careful fingers. "Did you have lovers take care of you that way?"

"Before my three serious lovers, I even had bedmates who brought me food when I was injured. You might find this amusing. Once I had to stay off an injured knee for several days. My mother came in with lopi, a type of bread balls, while one of my former bedmates, Keren, was bringing me a pillow from his home to help prop up my knee. Keren asked my mother if she would share her lopi recipe and she said, 'I have the lopi. You have the pillow.'"

Carson didn't laugh, and Ronon knew such things didn't always come across in translation. But then Carson asked, "I don't suppose there's any way I could get your mother's lopi recipe, but if we could find something close, I'd be willing to try cooking it for you. I'm pretty good at making muffins."

That innocent exchange led to kissing. When the discussion turned to sexual experiences and fantasies, Carson told about his first experience with a vibrator. He hadn't brought one with him to Atlantis, but his explanation of the device led to other suggestions and explanations, which in turn led to another round of sex.

#

"Would you like to soak in the pools?" Ronon asked after dinner.

Carson was feeling his age. It had been like a honeymoon, with sex the night before, and plenty of getting to know each other that led to two more rounds of sex and barely leaving the room on his day off. They'd taken their dinner to one of the most secluded tables on the mess hall balcony, and eating had made Carson even more lethargic. Now he wasn't sure what his young lover was asking. "Sorry?"

Ronon nudged his foot under the table, and Carson wasn't sure if it counted as footsies. He couldn't remember anyone ever playing footsies with him before. "I know you apologize a lot, but I can't figure out what you're apologizing for now."

"I was apologizing because I didn't understand what you asked, and I don't think I'm up to anymore flirting today."

"Sorry," Ronon said. When Carson stared at him in confusion, Ronon continued, "I figured I'd apologize for not understanding your 'sorry?' if that's what you consider polite." He rolled his shoulders in a way Carson already found endearing and continued, "From my perspective, it doesn't really make sense to apologize for such confusion unless both people apologize, and it seems more useful to try to build understanding than to apologize all the time. To be honest, I don't understand why you'd apologize for not wanting to flirt anymore today. The way Fiona explained it to me, consent means permission must be freely given for any form of touch at any time. I told you my people had no problem with such issues. I suggested the pools as a restful way to spend the evening."

Carson finally put together that the pools Ronon referred to were a feature Rodney had discovered and sent Carson an odd message about during a meeting. When Ronon left the meeting, Carson asked him to drop off water and towels, because John had only recently left the infirmary and might easily become dehydrated or chilled. "I'm sorry," he said before laughing at himself. "I've been told by many Americans that I apologize for things they never would. Perhaps that's true for your experience as well. Right now, I'm tired and neither my mind nor body are keeping up with you as well as I would like them to."

"Do you want to go to sleep early? Or I have a tablet full of movies and musicals we could watch in bed, so if you fall asleep it won't matter."

Jokes about old married couples staying home and watching telly drifted through Carson's mind. "You won't be bored?"

"I was hoping you'd lean against me as we watched, if you felt okay with that. I would be happy holding you or just being nearby. And I'm curious about any movie or musical on here." He briefly lifted his tablet.

It was all so matter of fact. As amazing as it seemed to Carson, it didn't even occur to Ronon to want more than Carson was up to giving, in sex or conversation. Sometime when Carson was more awake, he'd like to know more about Satedan society and Ronon's experiences in particular to see how the man could be so obliging without apparent effort. For now, he knew he was smiling like a fool in love as he said, "That would be lovely."

#

"Are you avoiding me?" Rodney rushed up behind John after dinner and asked while he was waiting for the transporter.

"What? No. We work together at least twelve hours a day." John tried for a casual slouch.

"I meant now, after work. You keep sneaking away while I'm busy."

The transporter arrived.

"Where were you going?" Rodney followed him in.

"Outside, maybe just to walk around the main tower." He certainly wasn't going back by the greenhouse to accidentally spy on anyone else. "I don't want to interrupt when you're deep in a project. We can't always finish at the same time."

"But don't you want help with your massage oil and stuff?"

"I do well enough. I think eating extra fish helps with my skin, too. Hard to know."

"It looks better."

As they stepped outside John pulled off his jacket to look more thoroughly at his blue arm. There was a time when wearing any sort of long sleeves would have meant a constant itch and annoyance that John had taken for granted. Now the blue skin felt almost the same as the rest of him. But it was still blue. "How can it look better when you have nothing to compare it to?"

"Healthy skin looks like healthy skin. Do you think a dermatologist cares whether skin is white or black?"

"You wouldn't ask a dermatologist to treat a bug or a snake. Maybe it's supposed to be thicker or scaly."

Rodney's raised eyebrows telegraphed the insult to John's logic that the scientist bit back. "Did it feel better to you that way?"

"No." John shivered at the thought.

"Well, you know your skin. I know you. Maybe I think it looks better because the texture is more like the rest of your skin or because you look more comfortable in your skin now. Maybe someone using a different rating system would assign a different value. Maybe I'm anthropocentric or biased by liking to touch you and help rub oil into your skin." Rodney threw both hands up in the air. "No wonder I don't usually bother with giving compliments."

John laughed, "Oh, if that's what it was, then thank you."

"You're welcome. Now clarify, you really weren't avoiding me the last couple nights?" Rodney abruptly shoved his hands into his pockets and was unusually still aside from walking.

"No, I'm used to spending a lot of time alone. Nothing against you."

"We need a way to tell if we're welcome at night, like the sock on the doorknob."

The apparent jump in conversation took John by surprise. "What?"

"College roommates will sometimes leave a sock on the door to tell each other not to come in if they have company. We need a way to indicate if we'd appreciate company at night."

"You could just knock and ask." John had assumed that was how it worked, although he had imagined Rodney just opening the door between their rooms in the middle of the night.

"Really?" Rodney practically bounced on his toes. "I wonder if knocking on the vanishing door would work. Usually the walls are almost completely soundproof. Maybe I could rig some kind of a doorbell."

"Or you could just open the door between our rooms. Does it really matter that much to you?"

By this point they were more than half way around the main tower. John wandered out to where one pier shared a connecting bridge with another pier. All outdoor areas on the piers were now officially cleared as safe for recreation. John had seen the connecting bridge from above before, but hadn't had a chance to walk this way. He stopped at a balcony with a particularly nice view back toward the city and realized Rodney had fallen silent.

Rodney ignored the view and scowled at John. "You've disappeared every night since I showed you the hot tubs and gave you a blow job, and you ask me if that matters to me?"

Johns head sank, like a turtle wanting to hide in his shell. A voice in his head said, "Stand up like a man." It could have been a memory of his father or something he'd seen online. He could have channeled an easy lean against the balcony rail to charm his way through as he'd seen Serano do with incensed lovers many times. But that didn't seem fair with Rodney.

"I was only two nights. You didn't come by," was the best John could manage.

"You were the one disappearing from the lab each night. I assumed you'd say or come find me if you wanted to see me after that."

"Oh." John rubbed his palm hard up and down his forehead. "I've never done this before and it didn't occur to me. Sorry?"

"I've never done this before either. How hard is it to knock on someone's door?"

John tried to remember if he'd ever gone knocking on someone's door. There had been a few time's he'd knocked on Serano's trailer door when he knew the man was alone and John needed to ask for something important. Those times had always been very difficult. He'd taken days to talk himself up to it. "I can't remember anyone ever wanting me to knock on their door. It honestly didn't occur to me that you'd want me to."

"Idiot. You obviously have self-esteem issues."

John's stomach clenched, even though it was a minor insult by Rodney's standards. "If I'm an idiot, isn't that only realistic?"

"First off, self-esteem should be based on your merits overall, in many different fields, and with feedback from many different sources. You earned a bachelor's degree in math before you turned twenty while living in a trailer and being treated like an animal." Rodney held up one finger and continued as he made a list. "When the entire expedition was caught in net traps our first day on Atlantis, you rescued everyone. And you have some intuitive knack for flying that seems to go well beyond your ATA gene advantage. You even sing well. All the reasonable people here like you." That was all five fingers, and Rodney started waving the hand around. "I like you better than anyone else, and I'm a genius. What more do you want?"

John blinked, not knowing what to say. Something inside of him felt very empty, and he didn't know what to do with Rodney's forceful praise. It was also getting dark and cold. John pulled his jacket back on. "I'm not sure any of that is what matters."

"Then what matters?" Rodney's eyes seemed set to stare right into John's brain.

John's stomach only felt worse. "How should I know? I'm a Bug Boy—only part human, part Ancient, and no one even knows what else. I wasted half my life hidden away in a trailer and I barely even remember what normal life might have been like before that. Since then, everywhere I go people try to attack me, and that makes things more difficult for everyone around me."

Rodney tapped his foot, crossed his arms over his chest, and was quiet a whole half minute before saying, "I'm just waiting for you to see how much better you are than all of that and than anyone who tries to hurt you."

"And if I can't see it?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm still right."

"But you have to admit I make things more difficult for you."

"I must like you an awful lot to put up with you." The corner of Rodney's mouth twisted up in the lopsided smile that John loved the best. If it didn't make him feel better, it at least offered a distraction. "If I can't fix your self-esteem, let me suggest an alternate scale. Why don't you choose your own personal goals, things you can control and believe matter the most? Call it self-respect or whatever you want. Base it on what you know of what you've done and why. I challenge you to fail at that. Because you know what? I don't think you can. You're too stubborn and you try too hard to let yourself fail in any way you understand and care about. Can you tell me the last time you were ashamed of something you actually chose to do?"

John's mind flashed back to spying on Kusanagi and Weir. Before that, he'd spied on Ronon, Carson and Kusanagi. Neither time had been exactly what he chose to do, but both times he could have chosen to stop or to reveal himself. He'd apologized for the first and knew he needed to apologize for the second.

"I think we should tell Kusanagi how we're accessing chair data remotely and ask her to work with us on strategies."

"What?" Rodney shook his head but then reached an arm around John's shoulders. "Fine, whatever, you can ask her tomorrow. I was hoping you'd say you shouldn't have been avoiding me or maybe you'd have some epiphany about how you can respect yourself and to hell with all these peons."

"I shouldn't have been avoiding you. Let's go set up a way to knock or ring a bell on the secret door between our rooms. Maybe we should have our own secret knock." He put his arm around Rodney and started steering them back toward the main tower. After they figured out their secret knock, he thought he might try giving Rodney a blow job.

#

"I think I owe you an apology, again," John said the next morning.

Kusanagi had rearranged one corner of the giant lab Rodney had claimed for the physicists to suit her own needs. She had a desk by the window for reviewing papers and drawings. Another desk at a right angle held a mix of Earth and Ancient tech and lined up with one of the original Ancient consoles in the room. At the moment, she was scanning through video data at the Ancient console.

"Again?" Kusanagi asked.

"I mean, you're letting me catalog security systems with you even though I sort of spied on you and Carson that first night with Ronon."

"You and McKay have been very helpful about unlocking footage from that incident and others for both my official and unofficial projects. I try not to have unreasonable expectations for privacy in public areas."

"Yeah, well, you might want to carry a Life Signs Detector if you think no one else goes to places like the greenhouse after dark. For the record, I wasn't there to spy on you or Weir the night before last, but I apologize for not making my presence known."

Kusanagi stared at him until the next time she needed to blink, and that was all. "Apology and advice accepted. Now if you help me test ways to make the sensors work around someone with your level of gene expression who is trying to hide, we'll both have a much better understanding of how to keep everyone safe in future circumstances."

"About that, Rodney and I have been looking into a few security measures of our own. We thought we should understand as much as possible before extra personnel arrive?" John knew despite the neutral look behind Kusanagi's glasses that she understood what he was implying about the Daedalus, bounty hunters, and others who might try to find their way around the Gate quarantine system.

"I assume this is on a need to know basis, for security?"

"Exactly," John hoped she took the next bit well. "While I can't key it to your console or you directly, at least not right now, that might provide you with a certain level of 'plausible deniability' as I think you'd say." Kusanagi didn't seem to connect the phrase to her conversation with Weir. It was probably too commonplace in her thoughts, which was an interesting piece of information in its own right. "I have figured out a way to request certain types of data mining and simulation processing that were previously only available through the control chair. If you want to see what we have and make suggestions…"

Kusanagi followed him over to the console where Rodney was working. There they added her sensor research and other ideas to the contingency plans and scenarios they'd been considering for when the Daedalus came.

#

It was hard not to grin like a fool as Ronon grabbed a snack and headed out to the mess hall balcony. The greenhouse had produced a bumper crop of nessat berries, and the Earthlings were offering them with a lumpy substance called cottage cheese. Ronon set his bowl down at the table with Kusanagi and Fiona for the first meeting of the Atlantis Arts Council.

Kusanagi nodded as her mouth was full. She and some other Earthlings avoided speaking with any food in their mouths.

Fiona said, "Good morning. I'm not sure why I'm here or what exactly an Atlantis Arts Council is supposed to do, but I appreciate being invited."

"We plan to share art both here and with Earth. Based on the art you shared with me and our previous talk, I value your insights." Finishing what he had to say, Ronon took a big bite of his cheese and berries.

Kusanagi added, "Ronon and I have been gathering footage from the expedition so far to make sure everyone at Stargate Command and those coming on the Daedalus are aware of key facts. Weir will send a formal briefing, but we hope to send a stronger message to all involved using pictures, music, and our actual words. Ronon's modeling it on some recent NASA and historical video you gave him."

"What sort of message?" Fiona asked.

"That Atlantis isn't just a resource to be exploited. Ronon belongs here as much as we do and the ZPM charger may not be the only prize set up to reward cooperation with groups that are already here. We also need to keep John safe and in the city, while hopefully using his achievements and hardships to make a broader statement." Kusanagi's declaration was passionate, like the artist he knew she was inside.

"That sounds more like content for a music story than a PSA," Fiona spoke softly. Ronon wondered if she felt her appointment to the committee was tentative or if she spoke differently with Kusanagi than with him.

"I hope to honor this expedition with a full music story in time," Ronon smiled as he saw Carson escorting Library Bard through the mess hall. His Sunday with Carson had been very pleasing. Merely seeing the man brought a warmth to Ronon's skin and the pit of his belly. "Kusanagi has explained how fast opinions change among your people. Sateda was advanced, but even we did not have a computer for each person that could be carried from place to place and accessed at will. The way you share news is as fast compared to what I knew on Sateda as news on Sateda was compared to a spread out farming planet without transport beasts. Kusanagi also explained about viral videos, and how occasionally educational memes could go viral."

Fiona's eyes went wide, "Did she warn you about cultural imperialism? You have such a strong music story tradition, and I'd hate to see viral videos or even stage musicals interfere with that."

Ronon stood as Carson approached and only briefly touched his lover's arm before raising both hands to his chest to greet Library Bard. "Welcome to our table."

"Thank you for making me welcome," she said as she sat. Carson placed a bowl of berries and cottage cheese in front of her, but she looked away quickly as if neither was to her liking.

"I'll see you at dinner," Carson said to Ronon as he hurried away. Ronon hated to see him go but knew the healer's mind had been full of medical questions and ideas after his day of rest.

Ronon said to the table, "I wish to introduce Library Bard."

Kusanagi and Fiona introduced themselves. Then Fiona asked, "Is that the title we should call you by? And should Ronon be called the Sateda Bard?"

Library Bard said, "It is proper to call me Library Bard. It is a title of respect among my people, who still live although they may be diminished. I wish to work with Ronon and you to restore many bards' legacies. From what Ronon says, there is no system in place to replace the Sateda Bard at this time. The one they lost in their great battle with the Wraith will be remembered as the last Sateda Bard unless his people rebuild and choose another."

"Sounds a bit like our National Poet Laureate," Fiona said.

"Only for a planet in a Galaxy with more respect for art," Kusanagi added.

Ronon guessed this would lead to an explanation like that of "Broadway." He would let it wait until later. "I do not need a title. Library Bard has asked me to help with completing her music story. Then she and I will each give a first public performance of our works in the storytelling center on Belkan. While we are not used to time pressure for such sharing, we believe the projection technology of your video drones is worth adopting. I may then stay to paint my pillar while Library Bard and her assistants travel to other story centers with the video drones. Other bards along the way may choose to paint pillars for her story and continue the sharing."

"It is my hope to inspire pilgrimages to restore Library. We have one of the largest known storytelling centers and document archives. I am not sure how extensive the damage from the culling that took me and my two assistants was, but I believe your people and mine may have much to offer each other."

"I'm sorry," Fiona said, "but I'm not sure I understand what happened to your people and how you became a Wraith worshipper."

Library Bard shuddered at the term. "Cullings happened on Library once every two or three generations, as is common on many planets. This time was different. The Wraith were more organized. They laid siege to our storytelling center. Then Guide came to claim me and my assistants. He said that so long as we served him he would not let them destroy our storytelling center, but as we were led out, I saw much destruction and every bard in the center had been fed on and left as a husk."

"I am sure your traveling bards and others have returned and started to rebuild," Ronon said. He had said as much before, but knowing the near total destruction of his own planet, it was hard to be sure.

"You were forced to go with Guide and create his music story?" Fiona asked.

"At first," Library Bard dropped her head. "Once a Wraith feeds and gives back life a few times, it inspires a slavish devotion, beyond any other addiction known. When I started my latest work, I believed Guide to be the greatest hero of all time. Now, I wish to honor my artistic vision but turn the tale into a triumph of unity. Whatever disgust most people must feel at the Wraith, this is a chance to share their people's story and perhaps accept that at least one among them, Guide, grew toward a larger purpose over the course of his very long life. I hope this will offer peace and a path toward healing. Ronon and I both fear that without the Wraith threat, planets and people may seek to overpower each other rather than build together."

"It seems to me this is entirely up to the two of you as Pegasus natives," Fiona said.

"It is entirely up to Library Bard to share her story as she sees fit." Ronon waited to see that aspect was firmly understood.

"I have asked Ronon to provide a sketch representing his people for the final panel of my work, as it will in some ways be a tribute to their legacy. My work may also be the first introduction of your people to this galaxy, and you could play an important role in maintaining peace and cooperation. I asked Ronon how best to achieve this and he provided a sketch and suggested I call you Lanteans instead of Earthlings in my finale. He knows our ways but suggested we consult you as representatives of your people and as a model for future joint artistic endeavors."

Ronon placed his sketches on the table. Library Bard placed her representation of the Wraith, including drones, workers, soldiers, and queens at the point of the triangle they would occupy in her final panel. Ronon's representations of Satedans showed mostly historical figures dating back to the healer portrayed in the Ancients' story of Dr. B's creature, but also including his own vague likeness, as he was part of Library Bard's story. For the group he proposed to call Lanteans, Ronon had drawn Carson, Weir, Ford, John, Rodney, Kusanagi, and Fiona. It satisfied his sense of connectedness with both formal and informal status acknowledgements. He hoped it also satisfied the diversity criteria that seemed so important to Kusanagi and perhaps would need support in parts of Pegasus as well.

"John is very identifiable," Kusanagi said as she hovered a hand above his depiction. "Given all he's been through, you might want to ask if he's okay with this."

#

John hurried toward the mess hall balcony, even though it seems odd for Kusanagi to use the radio to call him there. Rodney's only comment had been, "Why isn't she in the lab?" as if he hadn't noticed before.

He slowed down when he saw Kusanagi was at a table with Ronon, Library Bard, and a woman he thought worked in anthropology. He was pretty sure her last name was Howard.

Then he saw the drawings on the table and stopped cold for a moment. He had to channel Serano to complete the last step and say, "Hey, what's up?"

Ronon spoke in a monotone, giving away nothing. "I included you in a sketch for Library Bard's music story. Kusanagi worried it might make you more of a target. You don't have the final say, but Library Bard wants to hear your opinion."

John looked at the former Wraith worshipper and said, "Hi. I don't think we've been introduced. I'm John Serano, and I have no idea why anyone would want to include me in a piece of art."

Library Bard drew her hands into her chest and said, "Welcome. You should call me Library Bard. Because I know little of your people, I asked Ronon's advice in portraying them. He and Kusanagi seem to disagree only about you."

John looked more closely at the three pictures on the table. He didn't know enough about the Wraith to understand what the different body types and costumes meant. He recognized Ronon and B's creature in what had to be a group of Satedans, possibly historical figures given the differences in their clothing. The picture that included him showed everyone in their Atlantis uniforms, but if anything, the blue on his hand and creeping up his neck to his face was made to stand out. It was not the same sickly color as shown on the Wraith. If anything, it was a bit too bright. John wondered if Ronon saw him that way or was making a point. It was hard to miss that his picture of seven expedition members included three females, two African-Americans, one Asian, and his partially blue self. Was he a diversity poster child now?

"I'm flattered I guess, but I wasn't even on Sateda. I'm not part of this story and don't know why I'm included at all."

"The art is bigger than the story. No one may tell a bard who or what to include." Library Bard sounded annoyed and John stepped back.

"I didn't mean any offense. For what it's worth, I don't see how this would make any more people want to kill me or lock me up. Who's going to see it anyway?"

"They're going to take it on tour," Dr. Howard said as she swooshed her spoon through the air in a theatrical manner. That made John notice the berries and cottage cheese they all had and his stomach rumbled loudly.

Ronon gave John's stomach a look as if impressed by its loud growling. "Artists must show what they find important. Stories of this expedition and of how your people came to this galaxy will feature you, so you will represent your people and tie the stories together."

"I'm just a lab assistant."

The whole table except for Library Bard sighed, and John remembered Rodney's self-esteem lecture before Ronon started to speak. "The city lit up at your feet. You rescued your people from my nets. You discovered many aspects of Atlantis that I'm not sure your military has noticed yet. You kept watch over your friends when you considered me a threat. You sought ways to help other Runners when you perceived them as in danger. You braved a storm and survived an assassination attempt to save this city. You argued for your own freedom from a cell and spoke on other occasions in ways that changed attitudes toward you, me and others. And your blue skin challenges the way some people think." There was a silence after Ronon's words, and John's stomach growled again. "So speaks a bard." Ronon made a low gesture with his hand with half a look toward Library Bard. Then he glanced back at John, "Go get yourself some food, you're obviously hungry."

John wandered away as Kusanagi said, "Are you sure you want an Arts Council and not a diplomatic corps?"

Ronon replied, "Art helps people explore ideas and emotions. Diplomats find ways for people to interact. This Arts Council must plan how to best use and share our art."

John grabbed enough food to share with Rodney and made his way back to lab.

#

Rodney had planned to drag John in to see Carson as soon as he and Kusanagi returned from their berries and cream pseudo-meeting, but John had been skittish. Instead, Rodney bounced between developing protocols for tracking strong gene carriers, updating quarantine protocols, and an idea for using containment forcefields for both quarantine and defense.

Rodney was running the power estimates for the forcefields. With three full ZPMs it shouldn't be a problem to shield the city in a giant bubble or project round or straight forcefields anyplace inside. It would take several hundred such indoor forcefields to even make a dent in their restored power supply.

The triangular crystal brought back from Sateda had recharged the three mostly empty ZPMs on Atlantis without issues. But they still needed to confirm that only Ronon and a strong ATA gene carrier were needed to refill the triangular recharging crystal now that all the Wraith had apparently Ascended. Instead of doing that near the currently charged ZPMs, Rodney had reassembled the materials brought back from Sateda in a reinforced closet off his physics lab. From what he understood in the Ancients' notes, the recharging device extracted energy from a pocket in spacetime. What he couldn't understand were the safety notes about why this recharging crystal was necessary rather than refilling the ZPMs directly from whatever pocket of spacetime. All the explanations available came down to Ancient mumbo jumbo that tied back into aspects of the ATA and ATC genes that couldn't be explained either.

When Carson and Ronon walked into the lab, Rodney figured he could take care of multiple tasks at once. But Carson appeared to have business of his own.

"John, this concerns you too, please join us." As John joined them at the Ancient console Rodney mostly used, Carson passed Rodney a crystal to plug in. "This is what I found when I wanted to map relationships between Ancients, Wraith, Earthlings, those with the ATA gene, John, and Ronon."

While the Wraith and Ronon branched off to separate sides at the base of the Ancients' evolutionary tree, the Ancients themselves split into two separate populations before a cluster labeled "Earthlings" were connected with a dashed line on one side and a point labeled "John" connected with a dashed line on the other.

Rodney reached a hand to rest against John's back, but whatever reaction John had was buried too deep to see or feel.

"Then see what happens when I add this data set from Colonel Ross." When Carson tapped for the next diagram, a whole new cluster joined John's dot.

"How did you get a sample from General Ross?" John asked.

"Let's say he set his briefcase too close to certain equipment in the meeting room," Rodney said.

That caused John to stare at first Carson, then Rodney, and then across the room at Kusanagi who was busy at her own console pretending to ignore them all. "But he still doesn't have a sample from me?"

"Not as far as I know or could control." As Carson answered, Ronon rested a hand on his back, and Rodney suddenly realized how close together the two of them were standing. He couldn't help but smile regardless of the topic at hand.

#

"So, this proves I'm a mutant?" John rubbed a hand through his hair and wondered why Rodney was smiling.

"Yes and no." Carson brought up another almost identical tree but with more branches splitting off right at the bottom. In this tree John's dot was with a cluster labeled "Neanderthal gene carriers" and what had been labeled "Earthlings" before was now labeled "non-Neanderthal gene carriers." Carson brought up another tree on which "ATA gene carriers" took the place of "Neanderthal gene carrier." "Often people identify groups that may correlate with certain genetic markers but are essentially arbitrary. Did you know it's easier to determine your percentage relationship to Neanderthals than to Italians? There is no genetic definition of what it means to be Italian. But because Neanderthals were a distinct evolutionary group at one point and because ATA is defined by a specific genetic marker, I can tell you that you have those genetics in common with certain other people to define clear genetic groups."

"Did you create these extra trees to make me feel better?" John asked, touched by Carson's effort, whether or not it was just for him.

Carson smiled, "Only the Neanderthal one. It was to cheer me up too, because it's very frustrating to realize more understanding of genetics has been lost in the last 10,000 years than I could ever hope to re-discover."

"Sounds like my research into ZedPMs and the safety features built into this recharging crystal. My MAP device is already obsolete." Rodney tapped his foot, and John shifted closer to him wanting to bring back his smile.

"I'm not sure we'll ever know if the Ancients engineered what General Ross would call 'mutants' among themselves. The Ancients called these people 'gifted' and some saw it as an indication of who was ready to Ascend. I should mention the few scientific notes I've found about Ascension show that many Ancients Ascended without such genetic gifts and many gifted didn't Ascend."

"I don't suppose your research says what sort of 'gift' I'm supposed to have?" John asked. Even if it wasn't something cool like flying or dangerous like starting fires, he'd strongly prefer to know.

"Specific abilities seem to have been unpredictable. The gifted were generally credited with stronger ATA interactions but the rest wasn't directly predicted by genetics or at least not anything the Ancients left notes about. There may be environmental or other factors at play. As I said, it's more than I'm likely to figure out in my lifetime. That said, this might be a reason to welcome more people with gifted genetics to Atlantis, especially since they all seem to have the ATA gene as well."

"All of them?" John wondered how no one had noticed that before.

"Everyone in Ross' sample," Carson confirmed.

"Then Ross must know, at least after he found out about Atlantis. We should probably talk to Weir about this." John imagined all those identified with the ATA gene being targeted for further testing by General Ross.

"I had no official access to Ross' data, so the only thing officially linking the gifted among the Ancients to mutants on Earth would be you, and your information is confidential."

"But you wouldn't object to me bringing it up somehow?" John asked, wondering if he'd have to do anything at all or could leave it to Kusanagi to mention it to Weir unofficially.

"That would be entirely up to you, but if Ross knows, then probably at least some of the people arriving with the Daedalus know. She might appreciate advanced notice."

John nodded.

When it looked like Carson and Ronon might leave, Rodney jumped and pointed frantically at the safe room, previously known as a reinforced supply closet, that he'd been working on. "Wait, I need to see if Ronon and one of you can fill the recharging crystal."

"I thought you couldn't tell if that was safe," Carson said.

"I may not understand all the safety measures built into the thing and I probably never will. That means we might not be able to replicate it, but it should be safe to refill it."

"Should be?" Carson asked.

"It's not going to get any safer, and we need to know how freely we can use our current power supply." Rodney waved his arms toward the closet again.

As Carson started to pale and Ronon turned a concerned look in his direction, John said, "I'd be happy to try it this time."

"Let's go," Ronon said.

Rodney had everything set up in the tiny room already. John checked the settings and that any data or readings generated would be recorded. He knew where to put his hand. Ronon had done it all before. They shut the door and each put a hand on the triangular console. A pillar of light passed right through the crystal. John was pretty sure he saw several colors that didn't exist except in the dark. Then it was over.

John opened the door to let his very excited physicist rush past him to check all the reading and admire the refilled triangular crystal. "It seems like it should be harder to take energy from other parts of subspace."

"Sufficiently advanced science is indistinguishable from magic," Carson said.

"The Ancestors built to last," Ronon said.

Rodney was too caught up in the data to comment.

"I should head back to the infirmary," Carson said.

"I think I'll stay with John for a bit," Ronon said with a slight raise of his hand.

Once Carson was gone Ronon said, "Want to raid the greenhouse for nuts and berries with me?"

John didn't think it was really a question, so he agreed and followed along. As soon as they were outside Ronon asked, "You ever killed anyone before Bates?"

John stopped in his tracks.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You weren't trained for it either."

It wasn't a question, so John followed Ronon out to the end of the pier without answering. Luckily this wasn't the pier where the fight had happened.

"You think about him a lot or not at all?" Ronon asked as he seated himself by the railing out past the East pier substation.

John sat down feeling more than a little guilty. "I did that first day when I was confined to the infirmary, but then I got busy and tried to put it behind me."

"Did you cry or have bad dreams yet?"

"Not about that." His talk with Rodney about his supposedly low self-esteem had almost made him cry, and he had bad dreams the night before when he hadn't been sleeping with Rodney. As far as he could remember even the bad dreams that involved getting beat up hadn't featured Bates. He wondered if that meant something.

"First time I killed someone, my taskmaster kept me close until I could sweat through the bad dreams. Then I built a fire at the next night for honoring the dead. What do your people do?"

John's mind stuck at the term "your people." He didn't have a family, wasn't military, didn't think he knew anyone outside the military who'd ever killed anyone. "I guess the expedition includes a psychologist and psychiatrist. They'd probably try to help if I wanted to talk to them."

"But you don't want to?"

John shook his head.

"Do you talk to Rodney?"

"Not about that."

"About any of the events I listed today?"

John thought back to the Arts Council meeting and how Ronon had made John sound like some kind of hero. He guessed things like being captured in nets or confined in a cell were also things talked about in counseling or with friends. "I've talked to Rodney about other stuff that probably bothered me more."

Ronon reached an arm around John's shoulder and pulled him closer. "This okay?"

For some reason it was, maybe because Ronon was so alien and John's life was so confusing. Instead of startling or pulling away, he let Ronon hold him. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but I guarantee, I've done and seen enough killing that it won't hurt me to hear whatever you have to say."

Staring out at the water, mostly appreciating how warm Ronon was compared to the cold, salty breeze, John heard himself say, "It felt worse to know my brother wants me dead."

Ronon squeezed his shoulder. John thought about how he probably should feel worse for killing Bates, a man he'd known and had nothing against until the end. But the city recording had everyone on the command staff agreeing it was self-defense. The data burst they'd had Earth repeat led to Bates being charged with other crimes for his tampering. In the end, Bates was merely one more person who'd treated John like something less than human. That hurt more than knowing that the man had wanted to kill him and that John had killed him instead.

"You don't act like someone who was hunted by the Wraith. Did you talk that through with someone?"

"It took over a year alone on Atlantis before I felt human again. I created my music story and lit fires for all the dead Satedans."

"I sang some Johnny Cash for myself. I think it would be different if I set out to kill someone. Mostly I'm glad I wasn’t the one who ended up dead. And my mother died in a fire, so I don't think lighting a fire would help."

"I'm sorry about your mother."

"I used to think I killed her. I thought the fire might have been my fault."

"How did you find peace after that?"

"I'm not sure I know much about peace. Right now, I'm just hoping to be alive and free after the Daedalus comes."

"I think I understand where you're at."

That was the last thing Ronon said. John thought there should be more, but he didn't come up with anything else to say either. When his stomach started growling again, they headed in for dinner. They never did raid the greenhouse like Ronon had said.

#

John wouldn't relax when Rodney rubbed oil into his skin that night.

"Let me try something?" Rodney asked.

"Nothing's working."

"This may not either, but I'm a genius, and I want to test a theory."

Strangely, John seemed to calm a bit at just the words. "Okay."

Rodney took the opportunity to add more oil and spread it with long strokes up and down John's spine. "You know I'd never try anything on you if I didn't think you'd like it, but sometimes you have to experiment a bit to see what someone likes. Of course, if you ever thought of something you wanted to try with me, I'd be happy to help with your own experimenting."

"If you're talking about sex, I think you know a lot more than me."

"When we're talking about sex with each other, I can only learn what you like with your cooperation." Rodney let his oily finger slide down the cleft of John's ass and circle his hole. John tensed for a moment then shivered and relaxed.

"Do you like that?"

"Not sure, maybe?"

Rodney kept his touch light and teasing. "You never tried anything like this on your own?"

"No…"

When John didn't say anything more, Rodney rubbed his upper hand in small circles above John's ass while he risked sliding a finger from his lower hand inside. "How's that?"

"Weird."

"But it doesn't hurt?"

"No, kind of embarrassing."

"Would it help to know I do play with myself this way. I have toys just for this?"

John shivered and pressed down into the mattress then back, pushing Rodney's finger in a centimeter farther. There was still plenty of oil, and Rodney decided to seize the opportunity. "You have a gorgeous ass. And when you rub against the bed, your glutes flex. It's like you're drawing me in." By the time he'd finished saying it, Rodney had twisted his finger in deep enough to circle in search of—

"Oh, god!"

Rodney circled the spot a little more until John was practically writhing with just that small bit of stimulation. He was also breathing hard, almost gasping.

"I hope that means this feels really good."

"I don't know. It's like the shower, on the edge," John panted out.

"Does it hurt? Do you want me to stop?"

"No, maybe, just…"

John was starting to sweat, and Rodney had an idea. He reached into his bedside drawer for one of the toys he used. Not wanting John to panic if they stopped for a moment, he shifted to make more contact between their legs and said, "I'm going to pull out for a moment. Give me a countdown, John. Ten to zero, but nice and slow."

The moment John said "ten" Rodney pulled his finger out, wiped it with a tissue, and grabbed a condom to wrap around the narrow toy he'd chosen. No matter where he was willing to put his hands, he had standards for keeping his equipment clean. Using lube instead of oil this time, he let the narrow tip of the toy, trace around John's hole the way Rodney's finger had at first. The countdown was at "three," but Rodney was sure John would tense up by zero. He let the rod slide inside at one, then at zero he started the vibrating function.

#

John tensed around whatever Rodney had slipped inside him. His eyes squeezed shut. That only seemed to heighten the sensation. Vibrations passed through his ass, his cock, his whole body. It seemed like his sense of touch would overload and turn off. Instead his hips started rocking into the mattress as if on remote control. There was a warm pleasure building in him. At the same time, his skin felt ready to fly off his body.

"Something—need—not sure this is relaxing," was the best John could manage to say.

"You are the hottest things I've ever seen." Rodney's hand slid from John's ass up his back. The fingers were splayed wide. John could feel every curve and callous. He shivered at the cold left behind the warm palm. Another hand paralleled the first on his back, and John couldn't keep track of all the details anymore. He moaned and gave himself over to sensation.

"There, now at least parts of you are relaxed. I'm going to take my time rubbing this oil all over your skin." The words seemed to sink in as much as the oil. "Whatever your body does is fine. Relax into the massage, and I'll do whatever you want at the end. But if you want my hands or yours to get you off before then, I'm pretty sure you'll be even more relaxed after you come."

The words made John's erection swell. He was more sensitive with every shift against the bed. But the frenzy had passed. Sensations that had been overwhelming seemed to saturate him with pleasure. If there was a tinge of fear of being overwhelmed, it was muffled behind all the pleasure John experienced. Rodney's hands possessed him. The skin of Rodney's legs where his skin pressed against John warmed him like a fire. The words…

"Your legs are exactly the right size to wrap both my hands around. Even knowing how flexible and acrobatic you are, I marvel at the long, lean muscles in my grip. And the way your ass clenches around that toy has me hard. I know how that feels in my own body, but seeing you respond is like feeling it twice over."

John didn't know if the words counted as dirty talk or something else. Any other time or with anyone else, he didn't think he could believe someone would find his body appealing. But with his touch sense overwhelmed and Rodney's voice the only other stimuli he could track, every word felt as true as his own thoughts.

"I'm having some very dirty thoughts about you having this toy inside you while we're working in lab. You'd be trying to check through data but your eyes would keep slipping to half lidded as you got too turned on to concentrate. Every time you leaned forward the toy would nudge against your prostate, making your breath hitch." John's breath hitched as he was caught up in the story.

"At lunchtime, you'd carry a tablet in front of you to hide your erection and I'd helpfully put your food on a tray with mine. Then we'd choose an out of the way table. When you sat down the toy would shift making you want to rock into it. I'd let my ankle brush against yours and you'd feel the twitch of your pantleg all the way up. Right when you wanted to drag me back here to do something more, some people we barely knew would sit down beside us, and there wouldn't be any way to escape without them seeing the state you were in."

Suddenly John was breathing too fast. The oil on his skin made him feel cold, and the vibrations running through his body felt like they could shake him apart.

"Okay, stop." Rodney hand slid down his crack and did something to the toy in his ass. It stopped vibrating, and Rodney asked, "Should I take it out?"

John realized his whole body had tensed and his eyes were tightly shut. "Not yet," he managed to say. "Just give me a minute to get past this."

Rodney didn't stay silent even a minute, but his voice offered something normal to hold on to. "Can you say what's wrong or how I can help?"

"Dunno."

Luckily, Rodney kept talking. "Fine. Let me know if you think of anything. You know, it was only a fantasy. I wouldn't expect you to try anything like that for real. I have lots of fantasies I'd never want to try for real. I'm fine with whatever you want to do here in this room with just me. The whole public sex games part isn't something I'm into. We should probably discuss PDAs, shouldn't we? And you know the thing with stoplight colors? That's usually for scenes and kink, but you can always say red for stop, yellow for slow down or there might be some problem, or green if you like something. You know I'll always listen to you. John, can you say something?"

"I like it when you talk." John found himself smiling as he said it. It wasn't even because he was turned on and not hyperventilating anymore. All of Rodney's reassuring babble had made it very clear that John was safe with him, that Rodney wanted John to feel safe. "I'm not sure why I freaked out. I may have been too on edge and then the story got a little unhappy and like I was trapped."

Rodney hugged John's back and said in a rush, "I can totally see that. I should have known—"

"You shouldn't have known. You don't have to know everything. I'm fine now." John lifted a shoulder wanting to turn over so he could see Rodney.

"I wasn't done with that side."

John finished turning over anyway and lay back on the towels. "You were halfway down my legs, and you're a genius. You can work out what to do from the front if you want. And you can turn the toy back on."

"Are you sure?" Rodney looked more worried than John felt and not at all turned on anymore.

With what he thought was a sexy look, eyes half open and lips a little pouty, John said, "If you turn the toy back on I'll tell you one of my fantasies, also on the understanding that it's not something I'd want to try for real."

Rodney ran his hands, which had somehow ended up on John's knees, up the inside of John's thighs. One hand cupped John's balls and started to roll them gently and the other slid back to start the toy vibrating again. Rodney rocked the toy a bit with his finger until John gasped as it passed across his prostate.

"That doesn't feel nearly as weird anymore."

Rodney wiggled it back and forth a couple more times saying, "You were going to tell me a story."

"Not if you keep doing that."

Rodney eased his hands away from the toy and stopped teasing John's balls. Squeezing out a little more oil, Rodney moved his hands in broad stokes around John's calves and then set to work on his toes and the balls of his feet.

John was still almost too turned on to talk, but he made himself start. "I imagined us making out in a Jumper. I'm pretty sure going straight through space I could just give a mental command to head in a certain direction and then not pay any attention for a while."

"And what would we do?" Rodney prompted as he rubbed John's arches.

"You'd kiss me and end up straddling my lap facing me. You'd nuzzle my neck and rub our cocks together as I watched us fly through space." Rodney worked on John's heels and ankles and John wished Rodney was telling the story instead, because it would be hotter if he told it.

"We'd move to the back, because we'd definitely be the only people on the Jumper for this. Then we'd take off our clothes and lay out a couple of blankets to cover the whole back of the Jumper. Our hands would be all over each other as we got undressed, and pretty soon we'd be lying down next to each other making out and rubbing. But I'd have a passing thought, wishing I could see the stars all around us like when we were in front. And it would turn out the walls of the Jumper could all work like view screens, so we could see space all around us but still be perfectly safe and comfortable."

Just like that the walls, floor and ceiling in Rodney's room changed into views of outer space. "Oh shit," John said. But when Rodney tensed he said, "Green. Totally green. I had no idea the walls could do that."

Rodney's hands had stopped momentarily where they'd worked their way up to John's thighs. "If this is what the super gene does with your fantasies, I'm glad you didn't think of it while flying the Jumper."

"Umm," John wondered if he should admit—

"Fine, I'm glad you didn't want it too strongly while we were in the Jumper, or the Jumpers can't do this, or Atlantis is smart enough to know when you really want it. What an awesome view."

"I'm pretty sure that's our real view from where we are in space. I recognize parts of it from hanging out in the greenhouse at night. I was making up names and stories for some of the constellations over there." He pointed to the right-hand corner of the room, above the piece of furniture that served as both desk and dresser. It looked rather odd floating in space.

"You could take me with you for that. You don't have to do it alone." Rodney sounded serious and a little sad.

"Sometimes I want to be alone." John turned to meet Rodney's eyes, and he waited until the genius got the hint and met his gaze. "But I'd also like to go there with you and hear the names and stories you'd make up."

"Speaking of which, you were in the middle of a story." Rodney added more oil and moved his hands higher, ignoring John's very hard cock while he carried on with the massage.

"Mostly I'm trying to block out any thoughts I've ever had about zero G sex, because I don't want to know if Atlantis can simulate that here."

"I totally want to know," Rodney said, "but I'll agree this might not be the best time and place."

"Also, I don't know how much longer I can deal with this toy before I need you to fuck me." John had expected Rodney to banter about needing to finish the massage and oiling John's skin.

Instead, Rodney's mouth fell open. "Are you serious? Are you sure?"

"I am so serious. Don't you want to fuck me in outer space?"

"You can't just say things like that." Rodney closed his eyes even as his hands quickly oiled the skin he hadn't finished with yet. "You go for the vibrator, sharing fantasies, making the walls like outer space, and now you want me inside you. I wasn't sure you'd want that. I didn't think it would be soon anyway."

"But you want to?"

"So very much."

"I think I'm very ready."

That brought a fond, less startled expression to Rodney's face. "No chance, but I can fix that."

He slipped an oily finger in next to the vibrating toy, and John saw stars that had nothing to do with the projection around them. It was the shower experience all over again. Every sensation doubled. He wasn't sure if his hole hurt or wanted more. He was sure of one thing. "You need to be naked, too."

Rodney looked down as if surprised to see his own tee shirt and sleep pants. Then he removed his finger, gave the toy one more solid rock against John's prostate, and proceeded to strip.

John stared up at Rodney's naked body with the dark of space and stars behind him. Rodney was so pale. His nipples were like black holes in the middle of a supernova. John couldn't help but smile at his absurd, sappy thoughts. Then he watched Rodney roll a condom down his cock and suddenly everything was very real.

Somehow Rodney slid a pillow under the towel while pushing John's legs back. He positioned himself between John's thighs and switched the toy off. But instead of pulling it out right away, Rodney twisted it so the widest part filled John's hole. Then one of Rodney's blunt, calloused fingers traced along the rim stretching it a little more. As he finally pulled the toy out Rodney said, "Relax and bear down a little."

Then Rodney's cock was pushing against John's hole. The smell of Rodney, the oil, and the two of them so aroused together helped John relax into the pressure. There was a moment when John heard and felt a small sound in the back of his throat, a bit of a whine that might mean either "hurts" or "more," but the word that made its way out was "green."

Rodney smiled at him, framed by John's legs and with stars spreading out behind him. The vibrations that had spread throughout John's body before were replaced with the slow push that was Rodney easing inside his body. Stretching him open. It felt like he was swelling out to his skin, like he'd never been so full before. He was so warm. Shaking a little bit, but it was good, even if it bordered on hurt. This was touch on a level John had never known before.

Then Rodney's cock slid across his already sensitized prostate, and John was panting and trying not to come. Somehow Rodney knew and eased back a little. He stroked John's oiled sides and stomach saying, "You are so perfect. Take your time. I will do anything you want." Rodney didn't sound like he was that far from coming himself. John didn't even dare imagine what it felt like from his side.

Finally, when he could breathe and couldn't stand waiting any longer, John said, "Keep going."

With one long slide Rodney moved all the way in. John saw and felt Rodney's pubic bone press against him and all he could do was smile. Then Rodney started rocking back and in again, slowly, over and over. It was like the best Ferris wheel ever. They were at the top of a Ferris wheel in space doing the sexiest, most amazing thing ever until John thought he would fall apart into a million pieces scattered among the stars.

Rodney took a firm hold of John's hips and ass, holding him in place. He rocked faster, keeping John together enough that he didn't come until Rodney wrapped a hand around his cock.

Then John was gone. Pleasure in every fiber of his body and beyond. He felt Rodney stutter inside him, and they were flying together. The smell of sex and the vastness of space intermixed with waves and waves of pleasure and Rodney.

#

Ford glared at Ronon from his place at Weir's right shoulder.

Ronon ignored him and the visible Jumper parked behind them. He kept his eyes forward as the diplomatic niceties at the beta site dragged on. Luka and five other Travelers stood with Captain Trom, a tall woman in black leather with a pirated version of the Satedan blaster. Their own landing ship was parked to one side. Ronon didn't like any of them, but he could tell Trom was smart and educated in ways he didn't expect of a Traveler.

"You suggest you could offer crops to trade, but I see no evidence you grow your own." Trom spoke words lifted from a music story Ronon recognized. He waited for more to see if it was intentional and deserved a bardic response. "You approach us as equals and allies, but I see no evidence you can defend your own."

Ronon took half a step forward. "If you assume only what you see, we are ill matched as allies."

Trom acknowledged their shared art history and shifted tactics. "You do not come from the same planet as them. Are you their puppet or they yours, bard?"

It was a shot in the dark, but Ronon displayed like a predator back at her to keep her respect. "I'd think you'd be the last to assume allies came from a planet."

"The only ship you've shown is a cast off from the Ancestors."

"You'd trade for it in a heartbeat if your pilots could fly it."

"We'd trade for it anyway." There her tone changed again, to more casual banter, and Ronon sensed she was ready to negotiate.

"Not anytime soon. We seek an alliance for public safety, to keep Wraith tech out of the wrong hands, and avoid anything large crashing to ground."

Captain Trom stepped closer. "Lend us an engineer who can repair Ancient tech, and we'll provide the information we have."

"Kidnapping the repairman is a trite plot point. Inform us of any Wraith tech you can't secure as a sign of good faith. We could face future threats as allies."

"And your show of good faith was helping Luka?"

Ronon didn't like anything about Trom, but he could respect her power. "A gift freely given. Commander Weir came to meet you as a sign of good faith at Luka's suggestion. Perhaps you'll find her a more sympathetic negotiator than I am likely to be."

Ronon stepped back and let niceties resume. By the end, they'd been pointed to a Wraith cloning facility and a hive ship with a decaying orbit that the Travelers claimed they didn't care enough about to spend resources securing or destroying. Weir must have realized this would be a test to prove their tech and fire power, but she neatly negotiated the Travelers recognition of both the Alpha and Beta sites, as well as Sateda for the time being, as neutral sites that the Travelers would not loot and would profess to others as under their shared protection.

Ronon ended by inviting them to the bardic premier of two new music stories in two days' time on Belkan. An invitation from a bard was an honor. Having Travelers in the audience would be its own statement.

#

_John woke to choking smoke and flames. He floundered toward the door. Something about the metal handle wasn't right. It burned his hand._

_He threw himself into the hall, dragged himself on his belly beneath the smoke to rescue Davey._

_Before he could get there, the door opened. Little Davey stood surrounded by flames. His red flannel pajamas became flames, but Davey didn't scream. He pointed a finger down at grown up John and snapped, "Your fault! You ruin everything! Murderer! Mutant!"_

_Smoke overwhelmed John. He couldn't breathe._

_Tears streamed from his eyes. He couldn't move._

_Something soft wrapped around him. A damp mist that stopped the smoke and smelled like peppermint. A sound like static. A feeling of home._

"John, are you okay?"

That was Rodney's voice. Rodney's hand gripped John's shoulder. It passed through the blanket/mist/static. It wasn't Rodney who had saved him from the smoke, from what he suddenly realized must have been a nightmare. The feeling of home that had saved him felt like Atlantis, but somehow Rodney felt like home as well. A home within a home.

"John, can you hear me?" Rodney's hand squeezed again on John's bare shoulder.

"Yeah. I'm okay."

"You were wheezing. Then it stopped, but—John, there are tears on your face and you're so warm. You're not usually warm. Do you have a fever?"

The hand from his shoulder moved to his forehead. The fingers felt cool. John pressed into them.

"Maybe we should check in with Carson. Have you ever had a fever before?"

John opened his eyes and blinked up at morning light and Rodney's tight expression hovering over his shoulder. They were naked in Rodney's bed. "Give me a minute. I had a nightmare about a fire. I'm not sure if I've ever had a fever."

"The fire in Colorado?" Rodney offered it like a better alternative to what he knew was coming.

John answered honestly, not nearly as embarrassed as he thought he should be. "No, the one when I was a kid. But this time my little brother yelled at me for being a murderer and a mutant. Do you think that counts as a nightmare about killing Bates?"

Rodney wrapped himself around John like an octopus. That usually warmed John up, but now it seemed pleasantly cool. "We both know that was self-defense. And if anyone's to blame besides Bates, then it would be your brother for trying to have you killed. You know that, right?"

"Ronon thought our society should have some way to deal with and process these things. I think he lit fires in honor of his people who died on Sateda. But fire isn't going to work for me. Any ideas?"

To the genius' credit, he paused a moment to actually think. "Water would be the obvious alternative, especially given that you live on a floating city. What would you want to do with it?"

"Isn't there someplace where they float paper boats for the dead?" John had a picture in his mind from some educational video he's seen long ago, but it didn't feel right to him. "No, I think those boats usually have candles in them. Maybe I should ask around. Someone in Atlantis must know a ritual to deal with grief or guilt that doesn't involve fire. I wonder if Kusanagi and Ronon would want my help with interviews for their video." John didn't think he'd feel right interviewing people about grieving rituals either, but the water idea felt right.

"I thought they were making people sing?" Rodney said.

"I wonder if I could make music underwater?"

Rodney rubbed his face back and forth against John's shoulder. "You make less sense than a lot of the stupid people I usually avoid in case their stupidity is contagious like a plague."

"But?" John asked knowing the normal rhythm of Rodney's insults and that this wasn't one.

"There is no but!" Rodney tightened his mouth as if he could keep any further words in to avoid embarrassing himself. That lasted less than ten seconds. "Fine! It's somehow appealing when you do it. I'd probably figure out how to build a guitar that could play underwater for you if I didn't have a million more important things to do to protect this city and you and to figure out why the city has done things to protect you since the day we arrived like the Gate quarantine, secret doors, distracting assassins, and volunteering surveillance videos."

"You think it's an artificial intelligence?" John asked. He'd been wondering about Atlantis a lot more since he last sat in the control chair, but it had seemed a bit risky to mention it to anyone else, even Rodney.

"There's no data to suggest that." Rodney ran his hand in wide circles on John's torso as he spoke.

"An AI might hide any evidence, to protect itself."

"As a scientist, it drives me crazy to have so much technology available that I may never understand, and I'm not giving up on figuring out what coding underlies various systems on Atlantis."

"But?"

Rodney let out a huff right by John's ear. "So far whatever it is seems to be on our side, or at least acting to your benefit. With everything else we need to plan for, I don't want to risk losing any allies."

John rolled over and kissed Rodney. Then he did it again for very different reasons that involved being naked and suddenly face to face in bed together.

#

When Ford insisted on asking Sumner for advice at the morning check in, Carson insisted on being present. Weir didn't bat an eye when Ronon showed up as well, and Carson wondered if she realized how many times he'd watched the room from hiding. Ford didn't look like he'd slept since their meeting with the Travelers. He didn't raise even a token objection to Ronon's presence.

When the wormhole opened, they began as usual, "Captain Ford to Colonel Sumner, over."

"This is Colonel Sumner. I watched the recording of your negotiations with the Travelers and read your proposals for dealing with the Wraith cloning facility and Hiveship. Do you have more to report?" Sumner looked much as he had the day they arrived. Carson wondered if someone cleaned and somehow pressed his uniforms for him or if he'd set one aside and only wore it for check in times.

"Yes, sir," Ford said. "The Head of Science has claimed jurisdiction over the cloning facility so long as we find it abandoned."

"Ridiculous. They can't hold it without a military commitment. You don't have the manpower for that. Just blow the place up." Carson nodded along, knowing Sumner couldn't see him off camera.

"They agree about blowing it up. Their plan is to retrieve data storage crystals and then connect mini-bombs based on MAP technology to critical systems. Due to biological hazards involved, they believe this is the best way to neutralize all threats, sir."

"Let me guess; they means Beckett and McKay." It was almost reassuring for Carson to see the man's opinions of him and other scientists hadn't changed at all.

Ford on the other hand was presenting himself with a lot more authority and confidence than he had at the start. "And Ronon. He claims his practical knowledge of Wraith systems is mission critical and he's offered to go in alone with cameras so scientists can advise, sir."

"Captain, you knew I'd oppose this idea. I know you don't have to take my advice and Beckett, McKay, and Weir certainly won't. Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Two points, sir. First, the scientists are willing to run the mission without military assistance if that's the only way they keep scientific control. I was considering sending military pilots in cloaked Jumpers as back up. This would make it a joint scientific-military venture with the scientists in control unless they meet unexpected resistance."

Sumner nodded then snapped impatiently, "Second point?"

"For the Hiveship we could save a lot of our heavier munitions supply by inviting the scientists in as a joint mission, but in this case led by the military. A military team would go in with cameras and place mini-bombs where the scientists suggest. Ronon has volunteered as a consultant either with the military going in or the scientists advising based on video footage, sir."

"If it were up to me, I wouldn't let that intruder participate in any missions." There was a long pause, but then the Colonel said, "You have the command, Captain. You know the situation better than I do. Make a decision and stand by it." Carson detested the Colonel's attitude toward Ronon, as usual, but what he'd said to Ford almost sounded like good mentoring.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Ford said.

"Anything else?" Sumner asked.

Weir took her turn, "Hello Colonel, this is Dr. Weir."

"Hello, Doctor. Anything you'd like to share?" His tone was as chilly as usual toward Weir.

Weir pasted on a smile and said, "Yesterday you declined our botanists' offer of fresh berries saying you had more of those than you knew what to do with. Today they dropped off a box of small melons, in case your people were interested."

"Send them through," Sumner said. Weir looked surprised, but Ford motioned the Marines on Gate duty to push the box through. "Package received. Is that all for today."

"That's all." Weir's smile looked a bit more sincere than before to Carson. "Let me know if you'd like a botanist here tomorrow to consult on other fresh produce your people might want."

"That shouldn't be necessary"—another pause—"but thank them for us. Sumner out."

After the wormhole shut, Carson and Weir stared at each other for a long moment.

Finally, Weir said, "You know, I think being quarantined might have done that man some good."

Ford nodded, but then cleared his throat while he wiped a boyish grin from his face. "Ronon, are you still offering to accompany our military into the Hiveship identified by the Travelers as following a decaying orbit?"

"With a science team watching the video," Ronon clarified.

Ford nodded. "Dr. Beckett, I'd like to formally request two joint missions as outlined previously, with science in charge of the first and military in charge of the second."

Carson smiled at the young man. "Our teams will meet yours in the Jumper Bay in an hour."

"Agreed," Ford said.

_For once,_ Carson thought.

#

Ronon stopped in a room stacked six cells high with oval chambers for growing Wraith. The room was huge. Hundreds of such stacks rose from the floor. If a Wraith had been growing in each chamber, there would have been over a thousand Wraith developing at once. Ronon wondered how long it took and if they all emerged at once.

Visual inspections and scanning showed that all the chambers were empty now. There were no Wraith left to kill.

The idea of cloning had been new to Ronon, but he had seen insects who grew their young in similar chambers. If the Satedans had known of such a place, there would have been no shortage of volunteers to make war here.

Now Ronon stood amid empty cloning cells with two scientists and three of the Lantean military. He knew there were more troops in the cloaked Jumpers outside. None of them had ever seen a live Wraith other than Guide.

"They grew Wraith in those? That is sick." It was one of the Marines who said it. Ronon watched to make sure the man wouldn't actually be sick.

Their plant scientist, Dr. Parrish, wandered off toward a console that seemed to grow out of the floor. Ronon and Dr. Zelenka followed him. While Parrish poked and took samples of the plant matter that covered the Wraith console, Zelenka scanned with both Earth and Ancient devices. He reported into the radio, "This is a local terminal, currently unpowered and useless."

"Any sign of how it connects to more?" Carson's voice over the radio was soothing to Ronon in this monument to horror.

"No, but I'm picking up a faint power signal. Something farther in may still be active." Zelenka's hand drifted to the small sidearm he carried. It didn't look like much of a weapon, but Ronon suspected the scientist knew how to use it if needed.

"I'd like to take samples from one of the cloning pods before we move on," Parrish said.

Carson agreed, "Go ahead with that while the Marines set up explosives by the console and around the room. But as soon as they're ready to move on, we need to track that power source."

Ford's voice came next, "Cadman, determine the best distribution of C-4."

"Yes, sir."

When they made their way deeper into the facility, the walls started to smell like they were rotting. The energy source Zelenka was tracking seemed to match where the smell was worst.

"Increasing temperatures," Zelenka whispered. "Still no life signs."

Ronon took point, blaster drawn as they entered a room with a viney, wedge-shaped throne. Two of the Marines joined him while the other guarded the scientists in the hall. The room was warm with a faint blueish glow coming from beneath the chair and a purplish glow from a column of liquid nearby. The Marine scanning them said, "All clear."

Ronon couldn't see a reason to object. The room was warm but dead and rotting. "Bring the scientists in."

"Is that the Wraith equivalent of a control chair," Zelenka asked, holding out one of the tablets they were using to send back video.

"I'd like to puncture and drain some of this fluid," Parrish said, over by the glowing purple.

"Check under the chair!" Rodney's voice could be heard shouting, probably from right behind Carson, since Rodney wasn't supposed to be on their radios.

"Ano," Zelenka said. "Don't get your hopes up."

While Parrish received clearance and took special precautions with his liquid samples, Zelenka carefully scraped and twisted to open a panel beneath the chair.

"Then again," was all Zelenka said as he held the tablet to peer at what he'd just uncovered.

"ZedPMs!" Rodney's shouts carried again. "I can't believe they had three ZedPMs. Bring my babies home safely, where they can be recharged."

"Of course, I would never have thought of that," Zelenka spoke softly even as he disengaged the ZPMs that looked exactly like the three in Atlantis.

#

The hive ship the Travelers had warned them about was in a decaying orbit above a planet with a Stargate but no obvious inhabitants. Carson was watching over Rodney's shoulder this time, although the military were officially in charge. It had taken more C-4 than they'd hoped to fully destroy the cloning facility. If they'd been willing to set charges around even one of the mostly depleted ZPMs in situ, that would have provided all the power they needed to bring the place down. But no one wanted to argue with McKay about wasting ZPMs. Instead, McKay assured them that he'd find a way to use whatever systems powered the Wraith hive ship to shatter it using minimal munitions. The trick was to only leave pieces small enough that they'd burn up in the planet's atmosphere before hitting ground.

"That's got to be the engine room, Rodney was saying. Pack charges around the main engine and see if you can download schematics for their weapons and propulsion."

Ford had allowed Ronon to accompany the military on this mission as well, since he had briefly seen a hive ship when they implanted his tracking device. But so far Ronon hadn't said anything over the radio. Carson hoped he was keeping a low profile and not freaking out.

It was only after they'd collected data and placed charges on the bridge and beside several maneuvering thrusters that Ronon said, "These people might still be alive, if we can get them out."

Carson leaned forward to better view the two video feeds but couldn't see what Ronon was talking about.

Luckily Ford asked without prompting, "Who might be alive? Are there life signs?"

Camera two panned across a row of person-sized ovals covered by gauzy white membranes. Carson recognized Ronon's knife and hand as he cut around the top edge of one. He pulled back the membrane to show a young man's pale face with something wrapped around his neck.

"Is he alive?" Carson asked.

The room and all radios were silent as Ford repeated, "Are there life signs?"

A Marine with a Life Signs Detector came into view walking slowly down the line. "No, sir."

"Ronon's knife began to saw at whatever was wrapped around the uncovered man's neck. Camera two panned to show Ronon more clearly. His face was expressionless. When he pulled back the vines there were lines of bruises, but not as if the man had been hanged or strangled. It was hard to tell over the video feed, but Carson would guess the man had died slowly, probably of dehydration, collapsing forward as the vines took more and more of his weight.

On screen, Carson saw Ronon shake his head before moving on.

#

Parts of the roof in the storytelling center on Library were covered with animal skins. The effort seemed primitive at a glance. But having just blown up two Wraith facilities, Ronon was happy to see people rebuilding after the last of the Wraith attacks.

Walking in from the Gate, Ronon had seen a man pressing clay into hundreds of curved tile molds all laid in a line. The expanse of surviving roof covered in red tile was like nothing Ronon had ever seen before. Watching a carpenter repair the wood under damaged sections, even a warrior with no background in building could see how heavy those clay tiles must be.

Standing in the partially destroyed storytelling center, Ronon was struck by both the devastating loss and the dedication of all those working to rebuild this grand room. He bowed as two bards in formal robes approached.

"We are told you have news of Library Bard."

The two men, one older and one young enough that he must be an apprentice, stood tall but kept their distance. Ronon carried himself as a warrior. He would have received bardic robes when he formally presented his music story, but that concern had not crossed his mind in years.

"I am Ronon, a traveling bard trained on Sateda. I assisted in rescuing Library Bard and her two assistants. She and I will share new music stories tomorrow on Belkan." Adopting a more formal pose with both hands at his chest, Ronon said, "Library Bard requested that I invite those here, as she would rather speak after you have heard her story. The Lanteans, with whom I am allied and who feature in her story, would also be open to discussing an alliance with your people tomorrow after the sharing or at your earliest convenience."

"This is irregular and hard to believe," the older bard said.

"As are many of the best stories."

The man bowed ever so slightly in acceptance of the traditional response.

"Library Bard had nothing material to send as proof of her identity. She sent me with a sketch, made in her own hand, showing a scene from the story she will tell tomorrow. It includes a message on the back that those trained with her should be able to decipher."

"I will accept that," the older bard said as his apprentice stepped forward to take the piece of paper. In many a music story a messenger in Ronon's position would discover the note that said something to the effect of, "Kill the messenger." Ronon believed such an outcome was extremely unlikely here. He had many concealed weapons on his person nonetheless.

The older bard took his time staring at the message and turning it over to study Library Bard's sketch of the Wraith Ascension beside the triangular device. He and Carson were also pictured, not as distinctively as true heroes would be, but there were not many people as large as Ronon or with such distinctive hair.

When he finally looked up from the drawing, Ronon saw the true expressiveness of the older man's face. His eyes glistened with tears but his jaw was firm with respect based on what he had read or inferred. "I am Master Bard Tyo. Please tell Library Bard that our people graciously accept her invitation and are very pleased to hear she and her assistants have survived."

"I am Ronon Dex, traveling bard, and it is my honor to convey your message."

All three men raised their hands to their chests after the formal exchange. Ronon took his leave as he thought of how best to prepare Weir to meet with their next likely allies.

#

By evening, John was no closer to resolving any of his personal issues. He had gone to the pools Rodney had shown him, because water was the only idea that stuck with him all day. He'd come alone, because he really needed some time to himself. No matter how great it was to have Rodney in his life, John was pretty sure whatever processing or grieving he needed to do would work better on his own.

He had found a pair of dark colored gym shorts to wear as swim trunks this time. The sun was once again setting, and the pools had been announced for general use. John hadn't seen anyone else use them yet, but he was happier wearing shorts. Resting his back against one curved wall as he looked out at the ocean, John let the water temperature and bubbles gradually adjust around him until he felt like part of the water. It was a very calming sensation, encouraging his mind to drift as his body did.

After he'd realized he didn't actually want to interview anyone, John had gone to Kusanagi and helped set up a living history module instead. When she'd suggested he might like to record his own words and a song, John had shaken his head, unable to even speak. Then she'd placed her hand on top of his. He still hadn't spoken, but it was the start of an important realization. Before John came to Atlantis, he was almost never touched and he instinctively pulled away the few times it happened. It hadn't been easy to get past that with Rodney or Carson, but in the last couple days, both Ronon and Kusanagi had touched him without triggering any defensive or startle reaction. He'd even been okay with Markham touching him during the storm. John wasn't sure if that meant there were four or five people he trusted more than he'd ever trusted anyone before or if he'd been touched so much by Rodney that he'd gotten over some touch phobia or touch sensitivity he'd had.

The sense of home he'd felt for both Rodney and Atlantis that morning was new as well. Really, he had a whole raft of reactions and experience with each of them that he could barely categorize, let alone put into words.

The fear he'd felt since Serano's Modern Wonders burned down, or really since the first fire when he was ten, had changed as well. While he was aware of more possible threats—from bounty hunters tied to his brother to those who'd attack him for being different to those like General Ross who'd rather capture and use him—somehow he'd never felt safer. Rodney and Ronon has specifically tried to help him and build his self-confidence. Carson had too, in different ways, from the first time they actually spoke. And no one in Atlantis taunted him or treated him as inferior. Even if Ford and some of the military saw him as suspect, aside from Bates, none of them had raised a hand against him. Of course, Atlantis might have screened for that. They still weren't quite sure how the quarantine protocols worked. But Atlantis seemed very eager to please him. The bubbles around him pulsed harder for a moment, and it was difficult for John to see that as anything other than a form of agreement. He patted the edge of the pool and thought his thanks.

Despite his dream and the talk with Ronon, John wasn't sure he needed a ritual for mourning. He'd killed Bates in self-defense. The father who'd kicked him out and lied to him had died. The little brother he'd once tried to rescue was trying to have him killed. The last one hurt the most, but that wasn't about grief. Those things in his life felt dirty. Maybe John was drawn to the water when he tried to invent a ritual because he needed to feel clean.

Following his instincts, John let himself slide under the water. Pushing all the air out of his lungs, he achieved a sort of neutral buoyancy. Occasionally his foot or hand bumped the edge of the pool, but his entire body stayed below the surface without touching the bottom. He became one with the water. The temperature inside him seemed to match that of the water. The bubbles on his skin were like tiny breaths of air keeping him alert and calm. His energy was dissipated. Like a liquid, he flowed. The water around him had a taste, a little like salt and algae, but mostly like oxygen and freedom. He heard a melody in the bubbles. Each jet blew in like a woodwind with a slightly different tone but all playing the same tune. The bubbles reverberated through the water and across John's body like vibration down a guitar string. He was one with the water and drifted to it tune.

Suddenly large arms with something rough around the wrists were yanking him out by his underarms. John's spine bumped twice on the edge of the pool. A rough slap across his face made him gasp and blink rapidly. "You alive?" Ronon asked.

The moment was eerily reminiscent of waking up to Rodney asking if he was okay that morning.

"Of course, I'm alive. I was swimming." John looked around for the towel he'd brought and pulled away from Ronon so he could wrap himself in it. He was a little light-headed, although he hadn't thought the water was warm enough to cause that.

"Never knew anyone who could hold his breath that long, and you're all blue."

For most people, turning blue would imply they were cold. John looked down in horror to see the side of him that was normally a light tan color these days was indeed tinged with blue. It wasn't as blue as the left side of his body and the skin still looked fairly human, but healthy humans didn't come in that color. John took a few deep breaths trying not to panic and thought it reversed some of the newer blue. "Ronon, do you see what I see?"

"It's going away."

"Thank god."

"What were you doing?"

"Umm, inventing my own ritual?"

"Never mind. I'll hear it when you tell Carson." With that Ronon basically propelled John by one arm, escorting him to the infirmary.

Rodney joined them within a minute of reaching Carson shouting, "What on—in two galaxies were you doing?" John wondered if the scientist had set some sort of alarm to notify him any time John entered the infirmary. He decided to wait to ask in private.

Carson managed to hurry John into the large scanner before the blue had fully faded from his more human side. When John started explaining what had happened, Carson radioed, "Dr. Kusanagi, does Atlantis have any sensors or recordings of the pool area near the greenhouse?"

A minute later, Kusanagi showed up with records of oxygenation and temperature changes for the pool John had used downloaded onto her tablet.

"You said there was a burst of bubbles shortly before you submerged?" Carson asked.

Kusanagi pointed to a place on the line graph showing oxygenation, then she said. "Now this is very interesting. If I compare readings from air pumped in and oxygen levels recorded in the water"—Kusanagi pinched, poked and a new line graph emerged—"something is absorbing noticeable amounts of oxygen from the water for twelve point two minutes before the water overflow reading that presumably marks Ronon pulling John out."

Rodney snatched the tablet straight out of Kusanagi's hands and started pinching and poking to his own specifications. Finally he stopped and said, "I can't come up with anything that would imply less than twelve point two minutes. I guess that explains how McKenzie swam back from the underwater drilling platform. Do you have any explanation you'd care to give for experimenting with something so dangerous all on your own?"

John looked at the four people standing around him, all looking concerned in their own ways. They were the same four people he was certain could touch him without setting off any defensive reaction. And while Rodney was acting annoyed, it was clear none of them were put off by him apparently breathing water and turning even more blue for a while. These four people accepted him and cared about his well-being. John smiled and said, "Sorry for the fuss, but let me say it's probably not the worst way to find out I have some gift, and I really appreciate all of your concern?"

#

A group of eight from Library had brought formal Bardic robes for Library Bard. While such robes were traditionally unadorned and simple so as not to distract from the art, these were of the smoothest fabric in the deepest blue. An under layer was sheer and lighter than the tissues by Carson's bed. The top robe draped in loose folds but had a sheen like a waxy leaf on a jungle plant.

Ronon was performing first, as was fitting. He wore good dark leathers and his usual assortment of traveling weapons. Many traveling bards were warriors, and his music story was well suited to his attire.

The Belkan Storytelling Center, like many, was outside. A peaceful park not far from the marketplace surrounded dozens of pillars. Local bards would have to regularly touch up and restore their master works and those music stories shared each year for seasonal observances or due to popular demand. Ronon took his place by a previously blank pillar. Kusanagi had set four video drones to hang from the pagoda roof that would normally offer some small protection to paintings on the pillar. Kusanagi had insisted on four projectors so that every point could be covered from two angles to downplay any divots or scratches. Their projections were already in place, and those who'd arrived later might not realize the images were projected rather than painted. It had not yet been decided if someone would paint the images in place later or possibly use a printing technology the Lanteans could customize to local conditions.

Two other drones perched atop nearby pillar roofs, to record the day's events for replay on Atlantis. Carson and Weir had been persuaded to stay behind for security reasons. Weir had sent Grodin as a diplomatic representative. Kusanagi had come to oversee the drones, and Fiona to make anthropological observations. Ford had chosen three Marines, two with the ATA gene, since they'd hidden a cloaked Jumper nearby, and one of them needed to stay with it at all times. They were positioned near the visitors from Library.

Three Travelers, including Luka, had come. They stood toward the back, and no one stood too near them. Travelers were not especially known for their patronage of the arts, but Belkan was open to all trade, and as welcoming as anyplace would be for Travelers. Nonetheless, Ronon could see how Luka evaluated the crowd and terrain for possible hostilities, escape routes, or hiding places. He'd done much the same himself, even though he had been to the storytelling center here before. The open parkland offered many possibilities. The crowd was an unpredictable mix of locals and traders from many peoples, some clearly uncertain of the protocol for attending a music story in such a place.

When Ronon bowed, near silence spread across the audience. Many who had been standing moved to sit on cloaks or cushions. Mindful of his breathing and techniques he'd learned for projecting and preserving his voice, Ronon began his first public performance.

His opening sounded a bit too measured, to Ronon's own ears. To bring more emotion to his sharing, he started choosing members of the audience to focus on for certain parts. A very old woman, one of the oldest Ronon thought he'd even seen, had brought a stool and positioned herself in front of another pillar so as not to block anyone's view. Ronon sang to her of the beauty of his home before the Wraith.

By the time he sang the first battle scene, many in the audience were shaking fists or weapons and shouting in the appropriate places. When a family with children was culled, several shouted laments or touched their chests or faces as fitted their beliefs. It was only when he motioned the audience to move that he saw a band of Satedans, including Kell in a pressed new uniform, had joined the watchers. Ronon did not allow himself to focus on any of them. His audience had more than doubled in size, which was heartening. As he checked that they were all positioned for his sharing to continued, he thought he saw his old friend Solen standing alone toward the back, but could not let himself be distracted by checking further.

The crowd became even more involved—with some weeping and many loud shouts—through the losses and betrayals in the final parts of Ronon's music story. The greatest cries of grief came as the healer, truly Ronon's lover Melena, was shot through the hospital window. The outpouring was gratifying to her memory and to Ronon as a bard. When he laid out his taskmaster's cowardly retreat and betrayal, the final straw in the loss of the hospital and the capital city, there was much shouting and rattling of weapons in the audience. Ronon did not let himself look at any Satedans, but focused instead on a group of local officials who expressed themselves enthusiastically and emotionally in the sharing as only those who loved history and the arts could do.

He finished with his finale, as a Runner who found sanctuary in a City of the Ancestors. He allowed himself to sing part of that to Fiona and Kusanagi, "Sanctuary of the Ancestors, accepts true seekers, denies all schemers." It had been agreed that the Lanteans would share that much in their diplomacy, and he knew Kusanagi and Fiona shared his love of their new home, even if they hadn't been there in the time of which he sang.

At the end, he stood silent as the audience shouted their appreciation. Some mentioned favorite parts, which had always been the praise Ronon most took to heart. A non-Satedan shouted that it was a beautiful tribute to a lost people. Luka projected surprising well with the words, "You honor the struggle of Runners as never before." Several people offered ritual compliments or words for the dead. A few complimented his gifts as a bard, although Ronan knew his subject matter was stronger than either his voice or his storytelling skills could do justice.

At the appropriate time he issued his formal, "Thank you," and told those gathered, "After a short break, we will have the honor to hear Library Bard share a new and masterful work spanning the ancient and most modern history of the Wraith.

Only then could Ronon step back from his role as bard to survey the scene for threats and useful information. He positioned himself halfway between the pillar where he'd performed and where the Lanteans stood, as those whose customs dictated offered him small gifts of private thanks.

Kell and his band spoke heatedly, but in a quiet huddle. Neither Belkan nor any storytelling center would be an appropriate place for a confrontation, and Ronon was no more inclined to engage with his traitorous taskmaster now than when he first heard rumors the man had survived. Ronon kept his distance from them and motioned for the Lanteans to stay together.

While two of the Marines had been obviously distracted during Ronon's sharing, they were alert in an outwardly peaceful manner now. Ronon approved of how Ford had positioned himself and them to passively keep an eye on all angles. Grodin and Fiona, with Kusanagi standing offering insights when asked about the video drones, were doing a fine job of socializing and building contacts while staying within a safe perimeter.

As Library Bard conducted her chosen physical and voice preparations, escorted by her two assistants, the contingent from Library kept an obvious but respectful watch to assure no one interrupted her.

It was Solen, moving quickly from a semi-hidden position to one with a better line of sight on Kell's group, that first made Ronon wary. He waved away a couple of children who had been edging closer to him and daring each other to ask something. They skittered, and Kell strode angrily into the opening. "You dare to besmirch my name and portray me as a traitor."

"I would never name the traitorous taskmaster I portrayed." Ronon, and anyone with knowledge of the bardic forms, knew that for the insult it was. Only heroic figures or those already famous for other deeds were named in a music story. However, questioning a bard's portrayal in a personal, non-academic way after a sharing was exceedingly poor behavior and shamed both Kell and those standing with him.

"I trained you as a warrior, and I challenge that you are both a coward and a traitor."

Ronon gave the older Satedan a long quiet look. Once he had been sworn to this man. Now, Kell did not deserve a reply.

As Kell inched forward Ronon was all too aware of the milling crowd around them. It included children and those too careless of their surroundings. Many appeared to take the safety of the storytelling center for granted. "This is not the place for such challenges."

"Spoken as the coward you are." Kell drew a blaster from his belt, and all around them went silent.

"I speak as a bard. This is not the place for your challenge or any discussion of your private woes."

As Kell raised his blaster to fire, Ronon drew his own.

A thrown knife took Kell through the throat. Ronon was not entirely surprised as it came from the position he knew Solen had occupied.

As Kell fell to his knees and blood gushed from his throat and then bubbled from his mouth, it was clear the wound was fatal. As the Satedans with Kell all reached for their weapons, Ronon kept his blaster covering them, set to stun. "Do not further dishonor yourselves or our people by bringing violence to this place. If any among you have evidence that I am truly a coward or a traitor, we will discuss it as warriors at another time and place. If any believe Kell deserves to be avenged, you may find me later. I will also be proud to speak with any who wish to honor our shared Satedan heritage instead and move forward." As the other Satedans lowered their weapons, Ronon lowered his blaster and held both hands low to his sides. "To any local officials present"—Ronon knew exactly where the group he'd identified before were positioned although he did not shift his gaze to look at them—"I assert Kell broke bardic law with his attack here today and his killing was justified in my defense."

A balding man with the frame of a merchant but the stern expression of a warrior stepped forward. "I am Sal Vanjal, leader of the local collective, and I agree that I witnessed a violation of basic bardic law and justified defense of a bard within our storytelling center here today. Any with complaints may petition the collective office at the town square. Claims for the body and effect may be made there as well. Now we will clean this area as well as possible and hope the master bard, Library Bard, will still grace us with her sharing."

Library Bard was effectively hidden from view by a line of those from Library who had stood to shield her if needed. Master Bard Tyo, who Ronon had met the day before, made a small bow to indicate all was probably well. The gesture was polite. The scowl on his face showed contempt for all present as if they were complicit in allowing the affront to bardic traditions.

As locals arrived with a stretcher and shroud to remove the body, one of the Satedans said to Ronon, "I am Namen. While we have not met, I have heard only good of you in the past, Ronon Dex. As Kell's probable successor, I would speak with you at a mutually acceptable time of our common interests." The man had blond hair and a tidy blond beard. His uniform was the most impressive other than Kell's and looked a bit more traditionally Satedan.

"After Library Bard's music story, which I assure you will be enlightening, I will stop by the tavern to meet or plan a future meeting."

"Agreed." Namen hurried off, presumably to do what was needed with regards to Kell. Ronon hoped he would make the time to see Library Bard's music story before they spoke.

Ronon made his way to Solen with only a nod to Ford and the other Lanteans. "Not a bad throw," Ronon greeted his old friend.

"Thanks for giving me the excuse." Solen pulled him into a thumping hug, kept in check only by their current surroundings and situation.

"You have time later?" Ronon asked as they pulled apart.

"If you buy the drinks."

"As always," Ronon teased as he thumped Solen's back again. "Anything else I should know about Namen or others?"

"Namen seeks to cement his chances to succeed Kell by gaining your support. I don't know of a better alternative than him, and there are worse. Your natural caution will serve."

"So many times we should have been more cautious. To survive is to learn."

Solen smirked. "Always such a bard. Much impressed, by the way."

"Thank you," Ronon said more pleased than he should be given Solen's generally horrible taste, but it had been a while. "Come, I have new friends for you to meet."

#

Carson was seated beside Ronon at the large dinner gathering. Rodney and John were to his left, although Carson wasn't sure if they'd been invited or simply followed the food to the large meeting room.

Kusanagi had orchestrated the elaborate menu with enthusiastic support from those working in the mess hall. She had come back mid-day, when Weir and more military joined those who had visited Belkan, for diplomatic introductions at the beta site. Maybe those cooking had been excited to make party food for the first time, or maybe Kusanagi could talk anyone into anything. There were carved vegetables from the greenhouse stuffed with something like tuna salad made from local fish. A small grain, somewhere between rice and quinoa, was making its debut as the first product from the food pier. It had been made to resemble fried rice or stir fry and served in hollowed out fruit rinds. For dessert there was pudding with berries and a sprinkle of chopped ground nuts.

"Is this a party or a meeting?" Weir asked as she sat down.

"We could call it both and make it a new Lantean tradition." Fiona said as she studied her own plate. "This looks fabulous. I had no idea you could cook, Kusanagi."

"I like to experiment and design. For the cooking you can thank those working the mess hall today." Kusanagi took a seat between Weir and Fiona.

"Well, thank you, and I will thank them, too," Weir said as she relaxed back into her chair.

"There's room for all of us to sit," Ford told the Marines who'd been with them all day. The rest seemed to have been sent to some other assignment.

"You too, Peter." Weir waved Peter Grodin to sit at her other side, and the table was pretty much filled.

As they ate, those who had been offworld took turns sharing different stories and perspectives. Carson had already heard about Kell trying to shoot Ronon and being killed by Ronon's old friend, Solen, instead. The doctor had been trying not to let on how upsetting he found the story, but Ronon's hand on his knee as it was told again made it clear the bard knew.

"When you're ready to invite people in, I'd recommend Solen," Ronon said.

"What do you mean by 'invite people in?'" Weir asked.

"When people here want to marry or hire people who aren't from Earth, of if you offer sanctuary or have embassies like in Chess."

"What?" Grodin asked.

"He means the musical Chess, the British version." When most of the table looked blankly at Kusanagi, she elaborated, "There's a Russian chess champion who seeks political asylum at an embassy. Fiona and I had a long talk with Ronon about embassies, refugees and immigration policies, types of visas, all that."

"Atlantis certainly is large enough to house embassies and diplomatic corps from various Pegasus worlds, maybe from the Milky Way depending on how things work out," Fiona added.

Grodin choked on a piece of carved vegetable. Weir poured him more water and didn't speak until he was fully recovered. "Before we get too far ahead in our planning, perhaps Ronon could tell us why he recommends Solen."

"I don't trust Namen. Might be safer to do some business with him than risk working against an armed force like that, but I wouldn't trust anyone who worked with Kell after he betrayed Sateda." Ronon took a huge bite of the grain mixture and then seemed to remember the rule about chewing before he could finish speaking. The whole table waited. "Solen is our best contact for other Satedans. He has the genetics to charge Satedan blasters and probably knows who else has that. You'll need an alternate for the ZPM recharger in case I die."

He said it so matter of factly, like they should all calmly discuss back up plans for if Ronon died. Carson would have choked if he'd still been eating. Instead, he focused on keeping his dinner down. Ronon must have noticed something because his next words were, "Carson, what's wrong?"

Amazingly, it was John who answered when Carson couldn't get the words out. "He probably doesn't like the idea of you dying. Most Earthlings aren't as cavalier about saying things like that."

"Sorry, Carson." Ronon gave his knee a squeeze. It was a little embarrassing but very comforting. It certainly reminded Carson that they were both still very much alive as he flushed. "I hope you won't hold it against Solen that he killed Kell that way. It's how thing are with Satedans. I would have shot Kell otherwise, so one or both of us was likely to end up dead. We're probably as lucky to have Kell taken out as to find Solen and possibly others who can charge things the way I do."

"When Solen spoke to me at the beta site," Weir said, "he suggested many of the Satedans on Belkan and Manaria would want to go back to Sateda now that it won't be targeted by the Wraith. I'd rather build relations by helping with something like that. Possibly we could help rebuild Satedan technology to our mutual benefit."

"Up to you, but eventually people will want to move here, or you'll want them."

"Obviously," Rodney said, "Refugees on Earth believe the US and Canada are a hundred times better than whatever hovels they live in and at least ten times better than they actually are. Imagine what people here must imagine about the City of the Ancestors or when they see our spaceships or that we can pull trackers out of Runners. Also, if Ronon dies, we'll definitely need a replacement."

"Rodney," Carson found his voice, "you can't replace one person with another as if they're spare parts."

"Yeah, yeah, you certainly couldn't replace me." Rodney jumped in his seat and Carson guessed John had either kicked him or groped him. "I'm saying, there are several ATA carriers who can put their hand on the ZedPM recharger if you aren't available, but if Ronon's friend wanted to live here then we'd be set even if Ronon went off visiting or singing or whatever."

"If you want to send an ambassador to Library, I'd be happy to volunteer," Fiona said. "They agreed to let us use drones to record their pillars and music story sharings in exchange for borrowing four video drones to project images with Library Bard and record more music stories for their collection."

"Letting Dr. Howard visit Library for a while could set a good precedent," Carson said. "I've heard she not only handles questions well, but she can sing." Ronon smiled at Carson.

There was a lull in the conversation after that, and John said, "While we're thinking about embassies and who we'd invite to share Atlantis, what about mutants?"

Carson couldn't believe it. He thought they'd agreed not to bring this up for official discussion. He couldn't mention what he knew from Ross' data.

#

Rodney's genius brain came up with a million ideas for why they wouldn't want to encourage more mutants to come to Atlantis. Even if they were working on ways to detect them electronically, and doing a brilliant job of it if Rodney did say so himself (and he did), it was basically the definition of asking for trouble. John even suggesting it was probably asking for trouble.

Then Rodney looked at John's big eyes and the way his hands clutched the table.

The problem was, John didn't really ask for much. It had been Rodney's idea to try to build up John's confidence and convince him that he could ask for more from Rodney and life in general. But as someone who knew what it was like to put your foot in your mouth, Rodney knew what a mistake John had made. He looked to Carson hoping the doctor, with all his touchy feely people skills, would be able to talk around what John had suggested. But Carson had gone pale.

#

Ronon sat up taller, pleased his idea for embassies was generating discussion, but disturbed by the quiet that greeted John's proposal.

Weir broke the silence by saying, "I'm not sure exactly what you're proposing, but any discussion of embassies, refugees, or immigrants from the Pegasus galaxy can wait until after the Daedalus arrives and we resolve the issues with so many of our people being quarantined and not allowed into Atlantis."

John said, "Actually, I think we need to discuss some things first. If I don't deserve to be imprisoned or enslaved because of my mutation, then other mutants shouldn't be either. If Earth decided to take away rights from women or black people or immigrants would we go along with that?"

"We have a chain of command," Ford said.

"Isn't there some rule about refusing to obey unlawful orders? And what about morality and ethics? If the Daedalus came with orders to round up anyone Japanese to be sent to an internment camp, I wouldn't do it. Would you?"

Ford didn't answer. Kusanagi sat frozen. Weir said, "We do have a statement of neutrality in our charter, primarily because we have citizens of many different countries involved in the expedition."

"What if someone declares a war on mutants like the war on terror? Does that neutrality apply? Or what if no one declares it but they start taking people away in the night? We're all ready to admit that at least two different organizations tried to take me from this expedition, right? And they quite possibly found me because of the ATA research. If other mutants are natural ATA carriers or people like General Ross decide to count ATA carriers as mutants, are we going to stand by while those people are taken away?"

The speech was the most emotional Ronon had ever seen from John, but his audience seemed unmoved. Ronon wasn't sure why. There must be more context to the Earthling debates about prejudice that made mutants a difficult subject. He would need to ask Kusanagi about that later, carefully.

"Have you become a mutant rights activist?" Ford asked loudly, his hands now clenched on the table.

John's reply was quiet, but he sat up straight and looked Ford right in the eyes. "No, I'm trying not to be a hypocrite."

#

Being asked to meet with Weir in her quarters after the meeting would have seemed inappropriate to John, if it hadn't been Kusanagi who dragged him there. She abandoned him just inside the door, and he stood silently not knowing what else to do.

"Please, sit. Have some tea." John looked around enough to see that Weir's room was a bit larger than his or Rodney's. In addition to a desk, she had room for a small table with two chairs. Once he sat down, she poured hot water from an insulated thermos into two cups with tea bags. "I'm not sure what exactly you're worried I might do here, but I won't. It turns out my office, while offering enough quiet to work and a lovely view through glass walls onto the Gate Room, probably counts as a public space as far as video surveillance on Atlantis. Meaning, if I want to look at classified papers or discuss sensitive subjects, it's best to do that elsewhere."

She stopped to deal with her tea bag and sugar. John copied her, not really knowing much about tea. Whatever she'd served was redder than he was used to and smelled like pomegranate and what might be licorice. It was strange, but with a heaping teaspoon of sugar, John liked it well enough.

"I sometimes forget how young you are," Weir said. John wondered if that was a comment on the amount of sugar in his tea. "Would it surprise you to know that I have always had contingency plans in case Earth or the military made unreasonable demands of this expedition?"

When she actually waited for him to answer John said, "I haven't thought much about your work, I guess."

"And in your role as a lab assistant, that's fine. But you're also our strongest gene carrier and perhaps you're discovering you have mutant powers as well as blue skin?"

When John didn't answer, figuring Kusanagi could say what she wanted but John didn't have to confirm anything, Weir went on. "Whatever you're thinking about hypocrisy, mutant rights, and embassies may seem very new and radical to you, but there are others who've been thinking about and debating such ideas for as long as you've been alive."

"Most people don't even know about mutants," John said.

"Agreed, but certainly other mutants knew. And at least since the forties, certain government officials have known." Weir set down her teacup and picked up some files from her desk. "Can you guess what these are?"

John shook his head, and she said, "They're secret files on specific mutants. Some are criminals by any definition. There's also a mutant school that's argued for embassy status or other forms of legal protection for at least some mutants."

"Did anyone listen to them?"

"Not yet. But it's hard for non-mutants to find them or learn anything they don't want known. The mutant who runs the school is a telepath called Dr. X. He probably also associates with a group called the X-Men, who are either terrorists or heroes who fight against evil mutants, depending on who you ask. Either way, the school has been safe so far."

"Why are you telling me this now if you've had these files the whole time?" John asked.

"You had a lot on your plate before. And you still do." She smiled and touched his arm. He still didn't like her touch, which he guessed meant he didn't trust her. "When you mentioned groups trying to kidnap or coerce, you left out another possibility, those who may try to recruit you. I believe forewarned is forearmed. Feel free to stay here as long as need to think things through."

With that, Weir stood and left her own room. John was stunned for a moment until his eyes fell on the folders she's drawn his attention to and then left behind.

#

"Why did I understand all those languages?" The first focus group member asked.

"Coming through the Gate. We don't only understand aliens. It's like reversing the Tower of Babel." The second focus group member said.

Ronon didn't know what they were talking about. He didn't understand the idea of a focus group anyway. The video wasn't meant to convince others on the expedition. They needed to win support from those who would see it on Earth.

Fiona must have thought something similar. She was pulling her hair to stick up in different directions than usual. He wondered if the new style meant something in relation to Earth norms that he did not understand.

#

After hours of coding in scans for heat signatures that might reveal invisible or shape-changed people and magnetic effects that might show metal or magnetic mutants, Rodney discovered Atlantis had a chart of known gifts. The chart showed how they affected both medical and short range scanners. Once again, there was a layer of overlaid code barely even recognizable from what Rodney knew of programming. It frustrated the genius to think about the minds that had created both it and the quarantine protocols that he still couldn't decipher. It was horrible to think that the Ancients might have been smarter that Dr. Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD.

Rodney fed the information into his revised security protocols and was about to return to work on his own spyware detection software when he saw the related chart for synaptic interaction in gifted and other Ancient subjects. "John, what was your—"

There was a distinct lack of John in the lab. Luckily, Kusanagi was back in her corner. "Kusanagi, where's John?"

"I think he was meeting Ronon."

"Where?" Rodney asked, "And why?"

"I don't know. But if you find Ronon, tell him I have questions about changes he and Fiona wanted in this video."

Rodney huffed, as if it was his job to locate Ronon for Kusanagi. He picked up his research and headed toward the infirmary. He mostly saw Ronon in Carson's company these days, so it seemed like a good place to start.

#

Carson was in his office trying to equate the mutant data pirated from Ross, based on Earth testing, to the data he had on John, collected with Ancient devices. He was picking at a half-finished dinner tray on his lap, because his desk was too full with infirmary charts and papers to set it anywhere else.

"I need to know where John falls on this chart," Rodney said, holding out his tablet.

Jumping to block his console screen dumped Carson's dinner, which he'd momentarily forgotten was on his lap, onto the floor with a loud squelch sound. "Rodney!"

"What?" Rodney asked, staring down at the mess.

"Don't you know how to knock?"

Rodney glanced around and raised his hands in frustration. "You're a doctor. I figured you'd lock the door if you weren't open for business. Were you looking at porn?"

"No, I was looking at confidential patient data."

"Great, was it John's by any chance?" Rodney tried to lean around Carson to see his console screen. "I need to know where he falls on this chart."

"Dr. McKay," Carson tried to speak calmly but ended up talking through clenched teeth. "Sit down in the chair on the other side of my desk while I clean up this mess, or I promise you, I will not be looking up anything for you for the rest of the night."

"As if it's my fault that you spilled your dinner or forgot to lock your door." Rodney muttered a long series of complaints, but he sat in the specified chair on the other side of Carson's desk where he couldn't see any data he shouldn't. Carson reluctantly scooped his dinner into the trash and blanked the screen he had been studying. He poured himself a cup of tea and didn't offer Rodney any. Only then did he manage to sit back calmly and ask, "Now, what can I help you with?"

"I found this chart on synaptic interactions in gifted and other Ancients and I was wondering if you could give me comparison data from John, some natural and artificial ATA gene carriers, and other expedition members."

"That would be a breach of confidentiality." Carson couldn't help but look at the tablet Rodney handed over. The chart in questions included hundreds of results on an Ancient scanner reading that had no corollary on Earth technology. He uploaded from Rodney's tablet to his own bio-locked research and handed the tablet back.

"I need to know in order to refine security in case they sent any mutants on the Daedalus. Not that I know how to get this data without you giving each of them a full medical scan. But we could insist on that if we had to. Otherwise none of the security we've set up can identify mutants until they use their powers, and some not even then. We wouldn't know about someone like John until he stayed underwater impossibly long." Carson thought about John's rapid healing and overly acute senses, but didn't say anything. Rodney was still talking, "…Can't be too careful. I wonder if we could scan for this synaptic interaction indicator as people come through the Gate? That would make sense given the quarantine function. Anyway, you could label whatever results you show me by category. John would be the only one in a unique category, assuming we don't find any gifted we don't know about. And he gave me his medical proxy, so that's fine."

"That's for when he's incapacitated." Carson was distracted by the expanded chart compiling on his screen to include data from everyone on the expedition. He'd insisted they all have baseline scans on the large scanner, so at least he'd be able to spot changes and do further research if any problems showed up on tests he didn't understand yet.

"He said when we were both in here that you could tell me stuff because he would anyway." Rodney was starting to tap his feet and gesture with his hands. It wouldn't be long before he was out of his chair, so Carson locked down the new chart in his handheld medical scanner. It was the first tool Kusanagi had taught him to bio lock, and so far, it showed no signs of running out of storage space.

"That wasn't binding then, and it certainly wouldn't extend past that visit."

"Well I hear he's with Ronon, so if you know where they are you can ask him."

It happened that Carson knew Ronon was meeting with John at the end of the west pier. Ronon had invited Carson to join them and enjoy the sunset, but Carson hadn't wanted to intrude. Now he wanted nothing more than to hand Rodney off to John and possibly spend some quiet time with just Ronon and a sunset.

#

After a day trying to process his private meeting with Weir, John sat with his legs dangling from the end of the west pier. He'd asked Ronon to meet him there at sunset. It was not the spot where Rodney had talked to him about self-esteem and judging himself by his own standards. It was on the opposite side of the city from where Ronon had counseled him about nightmares and rituals.

When Ronon sat down almost silently beside him John asked, "You think this works for a private conversation?"

Ronon looked around, but John was sure the former Runner had scoped the place out before. John certainly had. "There are no Ancient public address devices or Earth surveillance equipment that I could find."

"I think you should have as much say about mutants coming here as Weir or I or anyone from Earth should."

Ronon took his time before answering. They were both keeping an eye and ear out for anyone approaching, and John hadn't picked up on that with anyone else before. "I am not qualified to decide on behalf of Pegasus peoples."

John snorted. "No one is. But Atlantis let you in first. You called this place 'sanctuary' in your music story. Some of the Ancient files call it that, too. And you can probably decide whether to count yourself and Solen as mutants."

"Can't help what others call you." Ronon nudged John's shoulder. With his chin he gestured out to where the sky was streaked with red and pink as the sun set.

"But aren't you all about influencing them through art? And we can get Weir or Carson to support some sort of declaration if we want to."

"Carson said the Ancients called them gifts. I would not mind calling what Solen and I have that as well."

"You'd be throwing in your lot with us. It might help get Solen a place here, but there seem to be strong prejudices against mutants among those who know on Earth. I saw some files Weir has. They know about at least 30 different mutants and most of them are considered criminals."

"How do you see them?"

"That's the problem, I never have. Some guy named Dr. X evidently runs a school for mutant kids and tries to make it like an embassy or sanctuary or something. But I don't know how I would have found out any of that while I was still on Earth. He may also have his own private army called the X-Men. And they fight a bunch of mutants, including a team led by Magneto. Magneto looks like a real bad guy, but he was tortured by Nazis and his parents died in a Nazi extermination camp, so maybe he generalized from the Nazis to everyone who's not a mutant." John knew he was talking too fast. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

All Ronon said was, "I don't know about Nazis."

"You should probably ask that anthropologist, Dr. Howard. But they're like the closest thing to a group everyone agrees were bad guys, except everyone didn't agree on that 80 years ago."

"Do you trust Atlantis to decide which gifted deserve Sanctuary?" Ronon asked without a trace of bias.

"Maybe if they came through the Gate, except none of my research really explains how the quarantine works. I don't know if Atlantis could protect itself from someone like Magneto, so even if a mutant with that ability came with good intentions, what if she or he snapped like Bates did? But on Earth, soldiers with P90s or scientists with bombs have snapped like that, and I'm not sure Atlantis could protect against those either." John felt like he was just venting about all the things he didn't know, but it felt good to tell someone. Whatever Ronon might think of him, the Satedan was probably familiar with not understanding things that might prove important for him. "Anyway, Earth isn't going to give mutants access to our Gate. And what if they could escape from a quarantine planet? Even if we could monitor and subdue mutants while they were on Atlantis, we might end up unleashing something worse than the Wraith if they get away from here. I don't want to be responsible for that."

"Could be worse things already here. If you didn't know about these people on Earth, it would be easy not to know about them here." Ronon shrugged. "I was worse when Atlantis let me in, than I am now."

"You think Atlantis did something to you?" John felt a strange sort of peace or belonging in Atlantis that he sometimes worried was more than a feeling.

"Having a safe place to grieve, practice rituals, perform art, and reconnect to people could help anyone. That's sanctuary."

John and Ronon both went silent as footsteps approached from down the pier. It was reassuring to John not to be the only one reacting to a distant sound for once. Without discussion, they both shifted to be facing each other, allowing them to see as soon as two figures came out from between the buildings at the far end of the west pier. It turned out to be Rodney and Carson.

"I told Carson about seeing the sunset from here," Ronon said.

"That's cool." John had covered all he really needed to with Ronon and was ready to go back to programming with Rodney. He was starting to push himself up when Rodney shouted from halfway down the pier.

"Tell Carson he doesn't have to keep your medical data secret from me."

Shaking his head, John held a finger to his lips and hoped Rodney could keep quiet for the rest of the walk down the pier.

When Rodney opened his mouth again, Carson shushed him. Once they were all seated, Carson explained to the eager scientist, "It's probably best not to shout about secrets of any kind. In this case, there is no blanket permission that I would accept, because what we discover day to day is beyond any of our ability to predict. You have his medical proxy, and that will be enough if John is ever not in a position to make a specific decision for himself."

"But how would I make a decision then if I'm not updated on everything that comes before? You alluded to how fast we're learning. Even on Earth, it would be ridiculous to assume—" Rodney was ranting at Carson, not John, but the poor doctor looked exhausted.

Ronon reached an arm around to support Carson's back.

John cut through Rodney's diatribe by saying, "I'm guessing the two of you didn't join us just for the sunset."

"Hullo, John, you are perceptive as always. While this is a lovely spot to chat at the moment," Carson paused to take in the fading red and orange at the horizon before continuing, "Rodney asked me to combine some Ancient data with expedition scanner records for synaptic interactions in gifted, ATA, and other samples. As you are the only gifted member of this expedition, your data would be specific and identifiable."

"Depends on how you define gifted," Ronon said.

As Carson's brow wrinkled making him look even more tired, John said, "Ronon and I were discussing who should be able to claim sanctuary in Atlantis. It seems the genetics Ronon and Solen have should count as a gift or a mutation. Probably the ATA gene should, too."

"I don't currently have Ronon's data in my chart," Carson said, "but now I'm curious."

"What are synaptic interactions?" Ronon asked.

"In simple terms," Rodney said, and John nudged his leg to keep him somewhat polite, "it's a measure of brain activity. Learning and/or processing power."

"Smarts?" John asked, partly because it was fun to wind Rodney up.

"The terms I used were already a gross simplification. There are inhibitory synaptic interactions and interactions between more than two synapses at a time. To truly model the activity being described by a single scan would require a great deal of processing power and more understanding of an individual's neurobiology than probably even the Ancients possessed."

"Oh, okay." John waited until Rodney was moments away from further ranting and said, "I'm happy to hear Carson's data, even the part that can be identified as mine."

"He can say mine too, if he wants." Ronon relaxed against Carson where they sat, and John remembered them openly touching when they met with John and Rodney in lab before. He wondered if showing that closeness was a sign of their trust, the way John had only recently realized his own reactions to touch indicated trust. He leaned in closer to Rodney, who placed a surprisingly gentle hand on his back.

After a pause to look at Rodney, Carson said, "The data Rodney brought me showed Ancients scoring in the 60-90 range. Those with gifts were most often in the 70-90 range. Scores above 90 usually happened shortly before someone Ascended. Of those in the expedition, John has the only scores in the Ancient range, with a reading of 68 his first time in the scanner and 71 after the breathing underwater incident."

"You think it will have settled down again like his skin color faded back or are those random fluctuations?" Rodney asked. "The study attached to that chart involved an Ascension machine experiment that was discontinued because the increased synaptic connectivity that led to gifts and apparently some amazing scholarly works, did not help people Ascend. Those that couldn't Ascend when they reached the 90s died."

"Calm down Rodney," John said. "You didn't go anywhere near that machine, did you?"

"No, there were warnings and safety measures for that room the same as came into effect after discovering the exploding tumor machine."

John watched Ronon pull Carson closer and took the opportunity to scoot closer to Rodney. For a moment, despite only joking about "smarts," he'd worried that Rodney might have wanted the data because he'd rushed in to explore the machine himself. He wouldn't put it beyond Rodney to not be satisfied knowing he was the smartest man in two galaxies.

Meanwhile, Carson had been tapping at the Ancient medical scanner he carried everywhere. "I have confirmed that Ascension device and room are under the strictest lockdown and medical quarantine. Shall I continue?"

"Yes, get on with it," Rodney insisted. John knew it was ridiculous, but he found the scientist's eagerness cute in this instance.

"Both natural and artificial ATA carriers range between 30 and 50. I don't have a good way to test this numerically, but it looks like our strongest ATA users are scoring somewhat higher. The rest of the expedition, for whom the artificial ATA didn't take, score below 10. I will remind you all that we don't fully understand what these numbers represent."

"What about Ronon?" Rodney asked.

Carson looked at Ronon again for permission before tapping some more at his scanner. "68, the same as John's first scan."

"We should do a before and after for submerging them both in the pools as long as possible," Rodney said.

"While that would be an interesting follow up experiment, I don't think it's urgent," Carson said.

"Some other time," Ronon bent his head to Carson's, and it was clear they were ready for time alone. The sunset at this point was merely a glow beyond the sea.

John stood and offered Rodney a hand, "Come on, I have some security ideas based on what Atlantis labels 'sanctuary mode.'"

Rodney let himself be led away, keeping a loose hold on John's hand. "That's what the city was running when it let Ronon in. I wonder what triggered it and if having three full ZedPMs will make a difference."

#

"That 68 means I'm gifted?" Ronon asked. At Carson's nod he said, "Being able to charge some devices is a gift, and most of the people who had it died when the Wraith destroyed Sateda."

Carson's eyes were cast downward, following the lines of the pier. "I'm not sure anything we learn could make what happened to Sateda any worse."

Ronon squeezed his shoulder. "John's struggling with whether to offer sanctuary to mutants. Even if Atlantis tried to quarantine bad mutants who came through the Gate, he says he'd feel responsible if some escaped and caused trouble. I think I might have been a bad mutant when I came here, but I got better."

Carson raised his face to meet Ronon's eyes. "I don't think you were ever bad."

"I was murderous and angry. I would have killed Kell without a thought if I'd seen him. I would have killed any Wraith or Wraith worshipper. A few more years and I'm not sure I could have come back from that."

"You're too hard on yourself," Carson said, settling in closer. "You might have been more dangerous, more hurt, but the good in you would have come through given a chance."

"We talked about Magneto and Nazis. Would you say the same about him?"

"I have no idea." Carson shook his head, eyes damp and wide. "I've been struggling between Earth ideas about mutants and Ancient ideas about gifted all day. I can't wrap my mind around some of it. Now Rodney hands me data that offers an almost instant test for mutants. I can keep it secret, keep those readings out of any shared medical data, but who am I to know? I'm the Head of Science, and I want to give up. I would turn people away because it's easier. What kind of a person does that make me?"

"Sounds like a healer who has given all he can and needs someone to give back."

"That's not fair to you. You're always giving to me. I'm pretty sure you're giving a lot to John, too. How's that fair?"

"As a warrior, I found Sanctuary. As a bard, I find myself surrounded by amazing events and passionate people. I feel a connection to you, and to John, Kusanagi, and Fiona. Those connections themselves are a gift to me, the sincerest form of appreciation."

"Doesn't that mean I'm selfish or don't appreciate my connections to you and others enough?"

Ronon buried his nose in his lover's hair. The smell of Carson, the solidity of his body, was everything Ronon needed in that moment. "This is the way you worry that I don't understand. When you feel emptied, like you want to give up as you said, that is your honest reality. If you actually gave up or pushed the burden on to others, that might be selfish, or that might be what you needed to do to take care of yourself. But I want to take care of you. I want to because of our connection and because you feel empty. I'm not sure you're capable of being selfish, but if you are sometimes, I still want to fill your empty places. There is so much about you to appreciate that it overflows from me and should flow into you. Do you understand?"

#

Carson wanted to say he understood. It seemed like the right thing to say. But he'd promised not to lie to Ronon. "I don't think I do. You're a bard and the words you say sounds meaningful, but I can't absorb them. I don't know why you keep trying with me."

Ronon leaned his head down to Carson's shoulder, seeming relaxed and unoffended. "Maybe you need to feel better before you can hear and believe. Let me give you that?"

He kissed his way up Carson's neck. Pulled Carson in close and ran fingers through his hair. As Carson nuzzled into Ronon's neck and shoulder, the man's heavy hair surrounded him. Carson was almost sure it was softer than before and smelled better, like coconuts or almonds. As he nibbled around Ronon's ear, he wondered if the Satedan had picked up hair supplies now that he could finally travel to other worlds. He wondered if Ronon did it for his own comfort or to please Carson. "You smell good," was what he managed to say.

"I don't know how you put up with me when we met." Ronon kissed Carson on the mouth until his entire body felt loose and warm. "For the record, I like how you smell, too. The scents your people use on hair and body surprise me sometimes, but most of them are pleasant. The way I have to get closer to really smell you underneath it all makes me feel special. I want to be closer and do everything you will allow."

Carson groaned. "Your words. Do you even know what you do to me?"

"Does it fill your empty places?"

"Tell me that's innuendo no matter what culture you come from."

"A bit." Ronon ran a hand all the way down Carson's spine, which meant his fingers ended spread across the doctor's ass. "Even after our talk on Sunday, I wasn't sure if you would want that."

Carson groaned again, "So much."

"Perhaps we should walk to your room?"

"Yes. Emphatically yes."

#

They walked hand in hand, and Ronon thought it was time to give Carson more than his body. Then Carson disappeared into the bathroom for a very long time, including running the shower. Ronon wasn't sure if there were customs he didn't understand yet and should be wary of. But he'd been waiting since Belkan and didn't want to hold back when Carson seemed in need of reassurance.

His lover emerged in a towel with steam pouring from the bathroom door behind him. The image would be beautiful on a pillar if Ronon ever painted such a music story.

Ronon had stripped down to just his pants. One of his pockets held the tokens he hoped to give his lover, if the time still seemed right.

"Were you rethinking what you want?" Ronon meant the question many ways.

"Not at all. I wanted to be very clean for you." Carson smiled and ducked his head a little.

The Earth people, and especially his healer, sometimes had strong beliefs about personal hygiene. It was good that Ronon had grown up around people with advanced medicine and hot and cold water in most houses, or he might not have appreciated that quirk so much. "Is it okay for me to give you something first?"

For a moment, Carson looked adorably confused. Then his shoulders curled forward a bit, and he said, "I'm happy to follow your lead."

"I think we follow each other in almost all ways, but I am honored to show care for you any way I can." Ronon stepped in close and took both of Carson's hands. "Your people, especially the men, do not seem to wear ornaments in their hair. But I very much want to give you two metal beads, as a sign of trust growing between us and a hope for more together." He pulled the beads and leather string he'd found on Belkan from his pocket. "I thought maybe as a healer you'd prefer to wear jewelry around your ankle, if your people do such things?"

"An anklet," Carson said. "That is very well thought out. My people sometimes give rings, but a doctor couldn't wear one in many situations. Could you tell me more though, about what this means to you?"

"When courting, there's a point where one person trusts the other so much, that they want to give them something to show it. To give one bead earlier might be considered impetuous, or as I explained with touches, a tease. Two beads do not mean asking for more commitment. They acknowledge trust and the risk that goes with it. A risk of loss that would leave someone mourning. Between a man and woman, it might mean risking creating a child, although planning for a child would probably mean another bead. More beads can always be added. Each relationship is different. I've been sleeping with you most every night, so I know you trust me in your space. I believe we both trust each other with thoughts we would not easily tell to others."

"That's beautiful." Carson reached out a tentative finger to touch and turn each of the bead. "I need to know; how would I reciprocate?"

"Don't worry about that now. Whatever feels right to you, I'll understand when you explain it to me, a ring, hairbeads, whatever. Sit down and let me show you what I found. This one is Titanium, it's not as pure as what a healer would have used on Sateda, but it won't corrode and is associated with the best healers in this galaxy. And this one is Cotal, a durable and scratch resistant metal. It is frequently given in situations like this, to symbolize a lasting relationship or long term intentions. May I tie this on your ankle?"

Carson's eyes crinkled in anticipation but also with questions. "Would I leave it on to shower, or should I take it off?"

"If it doesn't upset some practice or yours, then please leave it on. The leather string is only a holder, as hair would be. We can replace the string as often as need."

"But what if it breaks and I lose the beads?" Carson reached out to touch them again, with far more care than the beads themselves deserved.

"Please don't worry. It's symbolic, but if you needed to snap it off to get your foot uncaught from someplace, I wouldn't regret the loss of any number of beads. They exist to make you feel better, to remind you of our connection and my feelings for you. Do you want this?"

Carson smiled and his eyes blinked fast. "Yes, thank you. I don't know what to say. Should I sit down?"

"That might be best." Carson sat on the bed, and Ronon knelt at his feet. As he tied the anklet, it was impossible to ignore the shadowed space within the towel. But giving the first two beads to his lover was erotic, too. Once the leather string was securely knotted, Ronon couldn't resist running his fingers along and under each bead. Then he drifted his fingers up Carson's calf and leaned forward to kiss him.

When he pulled back Carson met his eyes and said, "I love you."

The tone of his voice and the look in his eyes told Ronon these words in this context were extremely significant to Carson. Ronon might not know the cultural particulars, but he knew how he felt and that they'd promised to be honest. "I love you."

Carson's face lit up in a way that made his eyes water and then they were kissing again. Soon Carson was pushing away Ronon's pants, and Ronon was pushing away the towel.

"You can put the towel under us to catch any lube. Do you know about lube?" Carson asked.

"Yes, I know about lube. We may not have had tissues, but Satedans had many varieties of lube."

"Mine's in the drawer beneath the tissues. There are condoms if you want, but I know we're both clean."

Ronon licked the crease between Carson's thigh and ass. "You smell very clean, delicious."

"You know what I mean." The way Carson smiled as he said it showed he wasn't worrying. He was comfortable enough to trust Ronon really did know what he meant.

"Surprisingly often already, and yet, I have no doubt your mind will dazzle and surprise me until the end of time." Carson's expression went soft at the words. After that, Ronon used both hands and his tongue to worship his lover's body. There was much he wanted to praise about the healer's dedication, his endless curiosity, and his amazing openness and willingness to let Ronon into his life. But for now, he wanted to take his sweet lover beyond words, beyond all the concerns that weighed him down. It didn't seem Carson had known much pleasure in his life from what they'd discussed so far. Ronon was determined to drive everything else from his mind and body this night.

Taking his time, Ronon eased first one finger and then a second inside while his lover writhed at a single hot breath across his wet nipple. When he saw Carson struggling near the edge, Ronon stroked his side calmingly with his free hand. He kept both fingers inside, knowing it had been a long time and Carson hadn't done this much even while he was still "experimenting" as he put it. But this was something Ronon knew how to do.

When Carson was calmer, his eyes half lidded but pleasantly relaxed, Ronon let his tongue explore the head of Carson's cock. Fully erect, it wasn't so unusual, but the idea of circumcision still fascinated Ronon. It wasn't something he'd ever seen or heard of before. That spongy, sensitive tip seemed so naked and vulnerable. Ronon sucked it fully into his mouth and swirled his tongue around. Carson didn't even notice the third finger entering his hole. For a long while, they were both caught up in physical pleasure. Mouth and ass. Spit and lube. Groans and panting.

At the point when Carson was pliant and babbling, eyes closed and possibly beyond understanding words, Ronon replaced his finger with the tip of his cock. The tight grip sent Ronon shuttering and searching for control. He opened eyes he hadn't meant to close and focused on Carson's unguarded expressions as he eased forward a fraction and then back. With one hand holding Carson's hip and ass while the other petted and teased, Ronon worked his way back and forth.

Their joining lasted forever. It was timeless. When Ronon's length was fully inside, he could barely bend to kiss Carson's jaw and shoulder. He kissed everyplace he could, amazed by the soft sounds, luscious scents, and longing noises. As the groans escalated in pitch, Ronon moved more. Finding the right spot was easy, but Ronon didn't aim there every time. Seeing Carson give in to pleasure this way was too good to rush, for both their sakes. It was only when Carson was shivering and practically screaming beneath him that Ronon wrapped his hand around his lover's already slick cock. He pumped him through orgasm and then followed him in three quick strokes.

They were both spent and more of a mess than tissues were meant to handle. Ronon did his best with tissues and the towel, then pulled the covers over them. Carson curled into him half asleep and ever so trusting. As their legs tangled, the anklet with the two beads brushed against Ronon's calf. A warm, protective feeling swept over Ronon, and he vowed to protect and cherish this man always and to show his admiration with many more metal beads.

#

Following John into the Gate Room, scanner and tablet in hand, to unravel the latest mysterious reference from the Ancient science records, Rodney was caught off guard by Weir's meaningless question.

"Dr. McKay, can you submit confirmation that the video footage we're sending to Earth is authentic?" Weir was standing on the upper level above the Gate, so at least twenty expedition members, some of them presumably trying to do some moderately useful work, were being subjected to this inane inquiry.

"Why would you want to waste the most valuable time of a genius and the Head of Engineering and Physical Science by asking me to authenticate an art project?" Rodney moved to where John was pressing his hands to the floor on one side of the Gate and started browsing every sensor reading he could activate with his handheld devices.

"Some of the material in the video is security footage from Ancient devices," Weir said.

"I'm pretty sure not even Kusanagi could hack that. If anyone's worried about the interviews and such made on Earth equipment, I'm sure SGC has standard procedures for verification." Rodney wasn't getting any useful readings so he called out, "Chuck, is your console showing any readings for the lock out device John is trying to locate?"

Instead of answering, Chuck announced, "Unscheduled Offworld Activation."

Weir radioed, "Ford, we need extra security to the Gate Room. We have an unscheduled offworld activation."

As the Gate lit up, four guards surrounding the Gate drew their weapons, and Rodney pulled John back to the nearest wall. Several Marines on the upper level shifted into defensive positions, one directly in front of Weir, as Ford and Ronon appeared through opposite doors with weapons already drawn. Rodney wondered bleakly if it was chance that the first unscheduled activation on Atlantis happened with John in the Gate Room. The man seemed to attract trouble.

The Gate was open for at least thirty seconds with nothing happening before a single man in a gray uniform with a lot of buttons and a cap came through. He carried a long triple-barreled gun in one hand, but it was not raised to fire.

Ford shouted, "Lay down your gun. Hands behind your head."

The man took one further step, putting him outside the danger zone for Gate activation. Then he fell to his knees, laying his gun to the side, and interweaving his finger behind his bowed head. To McKay, it looked like a cross between someone expecting to be executed and a pose from really bad porn.

As a shimmering cylindrical forcefield appeared around him, the man cried out, "I surrender. I denounce my place in the Genii regime and offer my service in the Ancestors' base."

In a whisper only Rodney could hear, John said, "Look at that forcefield."

Ronon said, "Do you seek sanctuary?"

At the same time Chuck announced, "That's a medical containment field. Calling the infirmary for medical assistance."

"Yes, I seek sanctuary." The man spoke faster, desperate. "I did not know I was ill, but many of my fellow scientists have died early. Please do not send me back. I can work."

"Prove it by telling us honestly why you are here and how you got this address," Ford said, coming down the stairs with his weapon trained on the man. The Gate closed without anyone else coming through.

"Do not shoot the forcefield," Rodney said. The Marines all looked to Ford like the idiots they were. "Bullet won't go through from either side, and there will be ricochets."

"What about mine?" Ronon asked, hefting his blaster.

That was a question worth investigating, but Rodney said only, "Don't be an idiot."

The man on the ground answered the question directed at him. "A Genii spy heard of your meeting plans with the Satedan mercenaries and others. We went to the meeting address early and placed a recording device and touch activated sensors on the dialing console." Rodney clenched his teeth. They were dealing in forcefields and wormholes, and they'd been infiltrated by the equivalent of militant teens hacking an ATM to get drug money. He was already sending Kusanagi instructions for new security measures and to check the video from the beta site as the Genii continued, "After we retrieved the information, a military strike was ordered to either take control of the Ancestors' base or to set up a covert military outpost on your world. There were at least forty men ahead of me. I do not know how I am the only one to arrive."

During that speech, Carson arrived with a bubble topped gurney and an assistant in an orange radiation suit. The assistant was fully covered, but Carson carried his orange hood under his arm. "Young man, can you tell me your name and if you know what radiation exposure means?"

The Genii looked up for the first time, hands still behind his head. "My name is Trevis Polon. I am a scientist and have worked three local years with radioactive material. How do you know that?"

"I am a doctor, a healer. The clothing I am wearing"—Carson gestured to the orange suit—"and all the special equipment provided here"—he gestured to the strange gurney—"is to protect us because you are radioactive. I will try to help you, but I don't know yet how sick you are. Do you give consent for me to test and treat you?"

"Yes, please. There are others I work with. Are they all in danger?"

"Probably, but I'll know more after I help you." Carson sighed and turned his head, "Dr. Weir, Captain Ford, we have a special isolation room prepared." Rodney wondered if the room had been prepared and the enclosed gurney and special equipment provided at need, the same as the containment box for Ronon's tracker and the burn treatment materials after the energy creature's attack. "Post guards if you want, but the only people allowed inside will be my staff in protective clothing." He pulled his orange hood on.

"Is his weapon radioactive?" Ronon asked.

Carson passed his hand scanner over the gun as Atlantis lowered the forcefield and they shifted Trevis into the enclosed gurney. "Not anymore."

As Carson left, Ronon came down the stairs to inspect the Genii weapon left on the floor. "This is a shot gun based on the Satedan triple-barreled rifle. An inferior weapon for poorly trained fighters. I would like to know if Kell sold weapons to these Genii. The Genii spy may be one of their group as well."

"Do you expect Namen will tell us?" Ford asked.

"Solen. He's been watching Kell. He has six years of intel and should be offered a place here, or at least a way to communicate directly."

As the Gate lit up Chuck said, "Unscheduled Offworld Activation."

Ford said, "Not like our address is secret anymore." He and the other military raised their weapons.

After the initial blue puddle, the Gate was filled with a milky white and a starburst appeared in the center. Rodney said, "That's the Gate shield." He ran up the stairs, bumping Ford and Ronon as he passed. He shoved his way in beside Chuck. "That's in the original code, before the layers we can't decipher. There must be a reason the shield activated rather than the quarantine protocol that presumably rerouted the rest of the Genii."

John came up behind him, but Rodney found the data he wanted on his own. "Nuclear bomb, not a very effective one. More like a dirty bomb containing nuclear components."

"Dr. McKay, are we in danger?" Weir asked in her annoyed mother voice.

"No, the Ancient shield could handle a thousand times this force. It's much tougher than the iris on Earth's Gate and so tight to the event horizon that not even sub-atomic particles could pass through."

While Rodney tried to determine where the bomb came from, John volunteered, "We think the Ancients switched to redirecting and quarantine protocols to prevent unnecessary deaths. But redirecting a bomb would be more destructive."

"This won't hurt the Gate?" Weir asked.

"Not our Gate at least," John said, sounding more concerned than Rodney could be for the welfare of those who'd tried to bomb them.

"We'll need to send a MALP and then probably a team in a cloaked Jumper to check the beta site." Rodney said when the system failed to tell him where either of the unauthorized activations had originated. "We should at least be able to tell if the bomb was sent from there and learn more about the Genii surveillance equipment."

#

Ronon was honored to bring Solen to what the Lanteans were calling movie night. The failed Genii attack had been the key to opening Atlantis to at least two more Pegasus natives, as Weir was calling them in her Sanctuary proposal. That recommendation had been sent along with the video he, Kusanagi, and Fiona had made to persuade Earth audiences to support the current Atlantis expedition. It seemed that Weir feared for her own position and continued civilian control, in addition to concerns about John. Ronon had done his best with Fiona and her focus groups to gauge reactions on Earth, or at least among the limited population that was allowed to know about Atlantis.

Ronon and Solen were handed bowls for puffed white grain as they entered the mess hall. Kusanagi waved them to chairs near the front wall, where the video would be projected. They ended up next to Rodney who was teasing John. "I'm trying to experiment. You told me the smell of popcorn used to have a certain effect on you."

John pulled the bowl of popcorn out of Rodney's hands and said, "Shut up, or you're not getting any—of either." As the lights dimmed, John gave the bowl back to Rodney. Ronon was fairly sure there had been innuendo of some kind in their exchange. All he'd learned for sure was the grain in the bowl was called "popcorn."

#

The video opened with footage of their arrival through the Stargate and audio of two children singing in French. Half the room moaned and the other half laughed as they recognized the opening song from South Pacific, one of the musicals Kusanagi had forced everyone to hear repeatedly during John's first imprisonment. Thanks to Gate translation, they all knew the words meant, "Tell me why life is beautiful," which suited the video well enough as the Gate room was beautiful. The next line, "Tell me why life is gay," might have been an in joke on Ronon and Carson's behalf or Kusanagi and Weir's, but John wasn't sure about that and he didn't know Fiona Howard well enough to speculate on her orientation. It still warmed John inside that someone he'd barely considered a friend at the time had made the effort to protest on his behalf, even if Kusanagi's methods of protest were a little embarrassing. The video they were gathered to watch was a far cry from her initial approach.

The next scene cut back and forth between John freeing everyone from nets and Ronon assisting Carson to save Private Diaz. It was accompanied by someone singing in a language John didn't recognize, but the opening line translated as, "Many, many beings fill the universe."

After five minutes of rapid video cuts and audio, mostly sung, in different languages, including Satedan and whatever Library Bard sang in the video, John was exhausted and overwhelmingly embarrassed. As the video ended he heard Solen ask Ronon, "Is all Earth sharing so intense?"

He missed Ronon's reply as the insecurities John was trying to overcome suddenly overwhelmed him. The knot in his gut felt like helplessness. The video was meant to persuade others, to assure his safety and let him stay on Atlantis among other goals. But John had honestly forgotten how many high stress events he'd been part of in the last few weeks. Seeing himself in a cell, being attacked, and removing a bomb was bad enough. Also seeing Ronon's confrontation on Belkan and reliving Rodney's walk into the energy creature was too much. He whispered to Rodney, "Can we go outside?"

"What, now?" Rodney asked a little too loudly.

John made a beeline for the balcony door while the lights were still dimmed. Making his escape to the darkest corner of the large mess hall balcony, he plopped down at the rail. Rodney joined him after only a moment, still carrying his bowl of popcorn. "The more I deal with Gate translation, the more I hate the Ancients. How can that be explained neurologically? If passing through the Gate doesn't change people's brain scans, how can we suddenly understand all that? Even those who couldn't take the artificial ATA gene end up with the equivalent of a near universal translator."

"I just found it overwhelming and embarrassing, not so much the audio." John leaned back and looked at the Pegasus stars to keep from having to look at Rodney.

"You can't face how amazing you are. I should force you to watch it over and over on a loop."

John's stomach cramped, and he thought he might lose the small amount of popcorn he'd eaten. "I think I need some time alone."

As he fled he heard Rodney say behind him, "But I wanted to look at the stars with you."

It hurt. Part of John wanted that, too. But he couldn't face Rodney right then.

#

Two hours later Rodney couldn't stop himself from knocking on the bit of wall where their invisible door would appear. They'd agreed on a sequence that John insisted mimicked the control chair starting up. Rodney couldn't hear the similarity, but for now all he wanted was for John to let him in.

When the seam around the door began to form, Rodney grabbed up the bag of gifts and supplies he'd collected. As soon as it opened he was through.

John was sitting up in bed. The sheen of his skin showed he'd already applied the oil he needed each night. His room was dimly lit. Rumpled blankets covered up to his waist. Above that he wore a sleeveless grey sleep shirt that Rodney knew was chosen for comfort around his shoulder, not for style. His beauty still took Rodney's breath away.

"I'm sorry, and I brought you chocolate," Rodney said with less style than he'd intended.

It made John smile a tiny bit for a moment. That was enough for Rodney. He settled on the lumpy blankets at the end of John's bed in the overheated room and dug out a small Tcho chocolate bar that he'd been saving.

"You don't have to give up your chocolate or apologize," John said. "I'm sorry I made such a fuss and then ran away."

Rodney unwrapped the chocolate and broke off a piece. He held it out to John who leaned forward and ate it from his fingers. He didn't lick Rodney's finger or try to flirt. His lips probably only brushed Rodney's skin because he was trying to be neat.

As their first touch in hours, it made Rodney's heart race.

"That's really good chocolate, kind of a nutty taste." It wasn't the type of Tcho usually described as nutty, that bar came from Ecuador. But whatever John tasted made him hum and lick every last trace from his lips. That was all Rodney needed to see.

Then John reached forward and broke off another piece of chocolate. When he offered it up, Rodney seized the opportunity to lick and suck on John's fingers a bit. Rodney savored the chocolate and John's reactions.

"You don't have to give me chocolate to get that either." John's smile was bigger this time.

"I would give you anything. You have no idea how much power you have over me. I can barely believe it myself."

John didn't smile. If Rodney just wanted sex or just wanted to make John happy for the moment, he knew he should back off. But with the Daedalus arriving in the next day or two and John still looking so nervous and tight around the eyes, Rodney really wanted to get across how impressive John was to anyone with the vision and intelligence to see it.

"What do you do when you want to feel powerful?" Rodney asked.

"You mean like exercises?"

Rodney broke off another piece of chocolate and fed it to him. "No, do I look like a physical trainer to you? I mean, sometimes I take a red pen to scientific journals and mark out all the wrong bits and write the comments I'd like to shout at the authors if they ever dared present such stupid ideas in an open conference room. Or I used to hack into corporate web pages and replace their hyperbole with true facts that show how incompetent their systems are. Do you do anything like that?"

John fed Rodney chocolate then ruined it by saying, "That might be why I snuck the bomb disposal unit into Carson's surgery to get the exploding tumor out of there."

It was a mark of Rodney's excellent intentions as a boyfriend that he didn't berate John for being a stupid, self-sacrificing, poor substitute for a teleoperated bomb disposal robot. "While that confirms that you are heroic and possibly the best-intentioned person in this whole expedition, can we think of any way to improve how you feel about yourself and your potential to take charge that doesn't involve outrageous risk to yourself?"

"I'm not heroic. That's part of what I couldn't stand in that video."

"For once in my life, I really don't want to argue." He reached out to John, grabbing his hand rather than trying to bribe him with chocolate. "I think being heroic is something other people see in you. While I'm a genius whether or not others realize, your ability to do what needs to be done, make decisions, and lead others when the situation demands—those are all things people see in you whether or not you let yourself see them. And trust me, the video isn't showing anything that isn't already there. They just packaged it up to show a few idiots on the Daedalus and back on Earth. You have all sorts of strategic thinking and leadership ability. I want to go back in time and wreak havoc, at least electronically or with cleverly phrased insults, on all the people who made you feel lesser or manipulated your trust. But this isn't about making me feel better. There's got to be some way for you to feel better about yourself and the power you have in the world."

John huffed a breath out of his nose and brought a second hand to wrap around where he was already holding Rodney's. "Fair enough. I will try to accept what people see in me and in that video, so long as I don't have to watch it again if I don't want to."

Rodney nodded, because he was pretty sure his words had gotten him in trouble before when he'd said he should force John to watch it over and over again.

"What you have to see is that I have accepted a lot and changed really fast. Half a year ago, I never spoke to anyone, and I'd given up on ever having friends, let alone a boyfriend or girlfriend." He squeezed Rodney's hand, and his grip was calm and reassuring. "I was never myself with anyone, except maybe when you and I talked on that Ferris wheel, but now I hardly ever pretend to be anybody else. I ran into the fire at Serano's half hoping I'd metamorphose into something that at least had wings and half wishing I could fly away to heaven like my father said my mom did. Instead I'm here, where I can fly Jumpers and communicate with Ancient tech. And hey, it looks like I might be drown-proof or something. I realized something else in the infirmary the other day. I used to avoid being touched by anyone, and I'm not sure I even understood what it meant to trust people. Now I like being touched by you. And Carson, Kusanagi, and Ronon are at least sometimes okay, maybe even Markham. As far as I can tell, I'm learning to trust at least those people, which really isn't bad for just a few weeks, especially with everything else that's been going on."

When John looked at Rodney and blinked his ridiculously long lashes, Rodney blurted, "I'm trying not to say anything stupid about how long it takes to get comfortable in your own skin."

Then John let out his horrible donkey bray of a laugh. All of Rodney's ridiculous choked up emotions forced him to laugh until he was practically gasping. By then they were both lying down, Rodney half on top of John.

Finally, John wiped a hand across his face and said, "I am much more comfortable in my skin these days, but I think that's mostly due to Carson's oil and eating extra fish."

Rodney pounded on John's chest. "Don't make me laugh anymore or my throat will be too sore to blow you."

With a wiggle and a shove, John managed to wedge himself more intimately beneath Rodney. Although there were still blankets and clothes in between them. "I didn't know that was on offer."      

"I told you: anything you want."

"Hmmm." John tapped a finger to his lips in a way he probably realized was distracting. "I want to know what else is in the bag you brought over."

"I think I'm insulted," Rodney mocked.

"You'd be just as curious in my position."

"I'd want other things more in your position." Rodney rolled his hips to make his point, but he reached over and upended the bag anyway. "There, all my secrets laid out before you."

"Then your secrets are half sex toys and half regular toys," John said as he reached out to squeeze a stress ball decorated as the planet Earth. "This is really pretty amusing given where we are."

"I thought so." Rodney realized the hand he'd used to thump John's chest had landed right beside a nipple. He started circling with his thumb, and John pressed up into the touch.

"I'm counting this as a sex toy." John held up a black scarf.

"While I'm happy to take charge in our sexual encounters as much as you want me to, I thought you might feel better blindfolding me or tying my hands tonight. And for the record, I am very happy to let you take charge like that whenever you want."

"That was one of your ideas to make me feel powerful?"

"It works for me sometimes." It also made Rodney half hard just thinking about.

John must have noticed because he flexed his muscles a few times causing Rodney to rub against him.

"I guess I don't need to ask about the lube and condoms."

"Not that I was trying to rush anything, but I thought you should consider all the options."

"Either way?"

"Either way. I like both." Now John was rubbing against him for his own enjoyment, but the way they were pressed against each other it worked for Rodney, too. "Is that what you want, John?"

John blinked and blushed. "I really do. I'm pretty sure I'll like it with you despite how it happened the first time."

"Was she riding you the first time?" John nodded. "How do you want it to be this time?"

"I don't know. I want to be able to see your face whatever we do."

"I think I know a good position."

John smiled big like a kid, which was a little disconcerting given the situation, so Rodney shifted up to kiss him. It was messy and silly at first. Their tongues teased each other and then followed each other back and forth as they traded off control of the kiss. When they separated to breathe, Rodney said, "Should I get myself ready?"

"Can I help, or should I just watch?"

"Whichever you want, but I haven't done this in a while, and I need to work my way up from one finger to three. Have you read or seen anything about this?"

John shook his head. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. I know I'll enjoy it and you will too. Afterward, I bet you'll want to try the other way around sometime, but if you don't, that's okay, too. Now pass me the lube."

In a moment, John went from shaking his head to rolling them both onto their sides. He sat up and shoved everything except the lube and condoms back into the bag Rodney had brought over. As he dumped it over the side of the bed he pulled his own shirt off and said, "Time to get naked."

There was no sign John was self-conscious about his body, past experience, or what they were about to do. When Rodney took longer than him to get his pants off, John pulled them past his feet and kissed Rodney's knee. "Show me what to do?"

Rodney pushed a pillow under his ass and put some lube on his fingers then tangled them around John's. "First we warm up the lube." He swirled his fingers suggestively around John's and then lay back pulling a knee with him in a pose he knew was obscene. Reaching down to his own hole he circled with one finger before poking just the tip inside. It had been a while, but Rodney did enjoy his toys occasionally. He knew how to relax and let something in.

#

The look on Rodney's face as he teased himself with that first finger was enough to convince John he'd been missing out. Usually they were a lot closer to finishing before Rodney looked like that, his eyes half closed and a flush spreading to his chest.

John shifted closer to Rodney's mostly straight leg and ran his non-lubed fingers down the inside of Rodney's thigh. When that light touch caused a whole-body shiver, John traced one lubed finger along the side of Rodney's hole. The muscle flexed beneath his touch, and Rodney said, "Slide it in next to mine."

Trusting the scientist to know what would work, he slid his finger along the one already inside. The ring of muscle let him through and then a warm tightness was all around him, clutching his finger. Rodney guided him in and out and around. Then Rodney was groaning and kept them rubbing across the same spot. The smell intensified, but there was nothing unpleasant about it. John could tell Rodney had showered thoroughly before coming over. There was a very intimate muskiness, but the smell of Rodney's arousal ratcheted up faster as his cock started dripping.

Pressing into the rhythm Rodney said, "One more, now."

John slid another lubed finger along the edge until he found a space to slide in beside the other two. The entrance spasmed, but Rodney moaned louder and bore down onto all three. He was rubbing and twisting.

All at once Rodney said, "Can you get a condom on yourself, or should I do it?"

"I can," John said, eased his fingers out and wiping them on the sheet. He was glad he'd found a chance to practice a few days before, because managing a condom with even a little bit of lube on his fingers was a lot trickier than he'd expected. But he got it on. He was still very hard, and Rodney still had one finger keeping him open and ready.

John used the tip of his cock to nudge the finger away and slid right past the first ring. The heat engulfing the crown almost made him come. He paused as pleasure zinged across all his nerves. This couldn't be what it felt like for everyone or they would never get the rest of the way in. But Rodney seemed to read his mind saying, "Take your time. If it's ever too much just pause." Then the warmth of Rodney's passage shifted around John a little, making John hiss. "Can't help that though. You feel so good inside me. I'll stay as still as I can."

Knowing Rodney wanted it but was waiting for his sake helped John focus a bit outside himself. He looked at Rodney's flushed chest and damp skin. The man had both legs pulled back, holding under his knees, and John didn't even know when that had happened. As he slid a little farther in, John watched Rodney's clear blue eyes. His pupils were blown, but that only made the blue look deeper and stronger. He sank into Rodney strength and trusted that Rodney knew how to make it good for both of them.

When he was all the way in the heat almost overwhelmed him again. How a human body could feel so warm at just 98.6 degrees was beyond him in that moment. The heat and the slap of his balls against Rodney had his breath stuttering and his heart racing. Their sex smell was stronger than ever before and if anything had pheromones that could affect him, then it was Rodney. John wanted to pound into him, to bury himself so deep that they'd never be separate again.

"Whenever you're ready. I'm so ready." Rodney was trembling beneath him, practically begging. It did something to John. He was moving before thoughts formed in his brain. Sliding in and out, not fast, but as far as he could go. He pressed harder. The impact when their bodies came together urged him on. Rodney's noises, higher pitched with every thrust reverberated through both of them. John's hands clamped onto Rodney's legs. He found an angle that added an almost whistling sound to Rodney's very eager noises.

Then Rodney was coming. His eyes rolled back. His orgasm rippled along John's cock, practically milking him, pulling him through the longest orgasm he'd ever known, jolting back and forth even when they'd both mostly finished.

Several breaths later John realized he had most of his weight pressing down on Rodney's legs. As he started to pull back, Rodney said, "Hold onto the condom as you pull out."

Once John managed that and dumped the condom into the wastebasket, he used the sheets to clean them both off. There was a lot of mess, but it all smelled like them, and they both smelled like what they'd done. If it was odd that John enjoyed that part, he sincerely didn't care. "Let's go sleep in your bed."

"Okay," Rodney said, without any sign of moving.

John pulled him up by both hands and led him through to the other room. On clean smooth sheet and Rodney's superior mattress, they curled up together and slept.

#

"Trevis, are you awake?" Carson asked. "You may not feel any change yet, but you are responding well to all treatments. You have been through a rigorous decontamination, meaning we no longer need the orange suits. Your bone marrow has been stimulated and is producing extra white blood cells. Binding compounds have been introduced to protect against further internal damage. You will be at greater risk of infection for a couple weeks while certain compounds are flushed from your system. With your permission, Dr. Biro and I will perform surgery on your lungs and tongue to remove a few small tumors. Using medical technologies available here, we can scan and treat those areas to provide less than a one percent chance of further tumors developing. Do you understand?"

Trevis stared at his hands. "They're not shaking." He looked up at Carson with glassy eyes. "You're saying there is a 99 percent chance I will live without further illness from the radiation?"

Carson nodded. "Your risks of cancer in your sixties or later will be slightly elevated, but to be honest, you would not have lived to fifty otherwise."

His patient's face contorted in unexpected pain. "Too many of my colleagues have died young. It is the price we pay for progress."

Carson struggled to keep his voice calm as Trevis bit back sobs. "There are ways to shield yourself from radiation and ways to treat those exposed. If you think your people would be receptive, we could try to share that information?"

"You would do that? You will not declare war for what they have done?"

Carson didn't want to promise more than he could deliver. "Do we need to?"

"No. Our current leader Cowen is corrupt. I am not much for politics, but many said he would fall soon, his failure here may lead to his replacement. There is a man, ambitious but not a bad man. Ladon Radim, he is the only one who might lead the Genii and care about our people. He is also a scientist. Tell him we can protect ourselves from radiation and heal those already sick, and he might use that offer to become the next Genii leader and your ally."

#

Coffee cup in hand, Rodney stumbled into lab a bit sore but intensely satisfied. He did a double take when he saw Ford staring at a screen with Kusanagi in her corner of the lab.

As he edged closer, he saw it was footage from the beta site camera that showed the Genii hacking the dialing device. "Are you still analyzing that footage from before the Genii's failed attack?"

"No," Kusanagi said. "We're checking readings from all the Genii devices after a targeted EMP blast. We can secure dialing devices without even walking through the Gate, because the Ancient tech isn't effected by the EMP."

"Oh, is that all?" Rodney asked. It was expected of him.

"We can also retrieve up to the last thirty addresses dialed. That comes directly from the Ancient crystal, so it's safe from the EMP, too."

As he continued across the room he said, "Well, Ford, I hope you understand enough of that to report accurately at your meeting."

"I think I'll manage," Ford said dryly before turning back to say brightly, "Thanks, Dr. Kusanagi."

#

After glancing at each face in the senior staff meeting, Weir said, "If I'm understanding you all correctly: Beckett wants us to offer information on radiation shielding and medical treatment to the Genii in the hope that a more sympathetic scientist-leader will be propelled into power. Ford hopes we'll use those negotiations to copy intel from a Wraith data storage device which we can then share with the Travelers to prevent exploitation of dangerous Wraith research or prevent other empty Hiveships from crashing into planets. And our new international affairs adviser, Solen, suggests we revive a thousand-year-old Coalition of Planets balancing ourselves and the Travelers with the Genii to keep the technological powers in check while Library and the repatriated Satedans emphasize the preservation and sharing of history and the arts. You want to move forward with all of this the day after we sent Earth a video summary of events on Atlantis and a proposal to add a sanctuary clause to the Atlantis charter."

Ronon thought Weir should be proud of her people, even Ford, and of her own recent work. Not sure why she looked so stressed he added, "Kusanagi and I have already started work on a new video to explain the origins and benefits of the Coalition to Earth, and we'd be happy to provide suggestions for further amendments to the charter to support local diplomacy."

Weir nodded slowly and said, "I think that will be all for now. Meeting adjourned."

#

The Earth species building on the food pier was quiet as John made what he hoped would not be his last visit. He'd check through his and Rodney's security programs later, but there would always be elements of Earth diplomacy or human treachery that John could not predict.

The Ancient seedbeds were much less frustrating in that way. The coffee, tea, and cocoa seeds Parrish had brought we already sprouting, much faster than under normal conditions on Earth. John checked all the data and contingencies that had been programmed to adjust the automated nutrient, water, and lighting systems and to activate robotic assistance when seedlings needed to be moved or tended. It would still take most of a year for Atlantis to produce its own coffee, tea, and chocolate. But John was confident that so long as the building remained standing and powered, the plants would thrive.

In the Ancient seedbank, Brown had found a plant related to tea and cocoa that also produced caffeine. John hoped he would be around to taste the results of the sample plot she'd seeded with that.

In the native species section of the food pier, John finally encountered someone else checking on the tava beans. "You must be Solen, Ronon's friend. I'm John."

Solen offered his hand to shake, clearly adapting to Earth customs after only one day on Atlantis. "Your deeds in the video story shared last night do you great credit."

"Uh, thanks." John wondered as they shook hands if staying on Atlantis meant everyone he met from now on would know him from that video. It made him feel uncomfortably exposed, but better than being known as Bug Boy. "Did you want anyone to show you around the food pier or have you had enough of us for a while?"

"I have never seen food grown indoors and would be happy to hear how these crops grow so well here."

"Oh, sure," John said. It was nice to be asked about something as a semi-professional. And Solen wasn't staring at his blue skin at all. "How much do you know about algorithms and robots?"

#

Ronon watched the Gate Room from a vent access that the Earth military had still failed to explore or monitor. They were getting better, but Ronon could only push an enmeshed military system so far and so fast. At least they'd learned to consult multiple sensor systems as well as checking in person or from windows or balconies more often. He'd set up some security of his own in the vent system and knew that John had taken similar measures using monitoring technology.

This night, Carson was busy reviewing his own version of security measures. He was checking the inventory and availability of medical supplies for any situation he could envision. His focus was split primarily between protecting his Genii patient, who was recovering from radiation exposure and surgery, and supplementing the minimal first aid kit in the lab where John worked.

When the Daedalus came out of hyperspace, Ronon heard the announcement both in the Gate Room and over the military radio channel.

"Daedalus, welcome to the Pegasus Galaxy. This is Dr. Weir. I hope your journey went well," Weir spoke into the microphone near Chuck.

The video screen came on to show a very pale man, possibly an elder, with almost no hair. "This is Colonel Caldwell in command of the Daedalus. Our maiden voyage was pleasantly uneventful, and we look forward to our rendezvous with Atlantis in approximately ten Earth standard hours."

"Colonel Caldwell, nice to see you again." Weir was now speaking directly to his image on the video screen. "We have databursts of our own and from SGC to transmit as well as three possible landing protocols for you to consider. There is also a video summary of expedition events that will give you and your crew a quick overview. It is a product of the Atlantis Arts Council and has also been distributed through appropriate channels on Earth."

Caldwell gave a cold stare as if something in what Weir said was not to his liking. Ronon regretted not understanding Earthlings well enough to interpret the subtext. Weir for her part was standing tall and proud.

"We are prepared to accept and review your transmissions," Caldwell said. A moment later he said, "Data received and verified as complete. See you tomorrow, Dr. Weir." The screen went blank.

#

When the Daedalus landed beside the east pier, John couldn't help but be impressed. It was at least two hundred yards long, an awkward grey battleship for space that barely splashed water onto the pier when it touched down.

John was watching from a balcony high above. He imagined piloting the even larger city-ship of Atlantis up into space. Would he be able to take off from beside the Daedalus without swamping the smaller ship?

Gangways appeared and it seemed like no time at all until Ford and Weir were greeting Caldwell. His crew, which appeared mostly military in bearing, were filing into Atlantis or unloading supplies. Atlantis would alert them if explosives or other hazardous substances were unloaded. They'd even rigged a medical sensor at the entrance from the east pier (and from the south pier, an alternate landing location) to check heat signatures and basic biometric data. They had not been able to include the new synaptic interaction indicator that Rodney wanted, and John thought that was just as well. What they had might be enough to detect certain mutants or hidden hazards, like exploding tumors, not that those were the threats John was most worried about. Without recreating the Atlantis Gate in the doorway, there was no way to reproduce whatever quarantine protocols had weeded out over a third of the initial expedition. Weir had suggested landing the Daedalus at the alpha site to Gate everyone in, but neither Earth nor Caldwell had appreciated that suggestion.

As the activity on the pier below became less interesting, John turned to head inside. A Marine he didn't recognize came through the open balcony door, sidearm drawn. "John Serano, please place your hands in front of you. I have orders from General Ross and a classified initiative to confine you aboard the Daedalus at the earliest opportunity."

This was more direct than John had anticipated. It suddenly seemed incredibly stupid for him to be standing alone and unarmed on a balcony visible from the landing location. Not knowing what else to do, John held his arms out, expecting to be handcuffed.

Instead, Ford stepped out of the doorway with his weapon, a P90, drawn and aimed at the new Marine. "Sergeant, I am the commander of this base, and I order you to lay down your weapon."

"No, sir. I have written orders on my person from General Ross giving me authority to arrest and confine this man until we return to Earth."

"Then someone should have cleared those orders with me." Ford's gaze didn't even waiver. "Lower your weapon now or I will have you arrested and confined until this matter can be clarified up the chain of command."

The new Marine shot Ford in the chest, possibly just the right shoulder. John didn't have time to look as he threw his weight back against the balcony rail, lifted his feet, and kicked forward into the outstretched arms that had just shot Ford.

It worked for a moment. The attacker was disarmed and stumbled back against the wall. But then he was pummeling John in hand to hand. John wasn't trained for this.

Ford threw himself on the guy's back. For a moment, they seemed evenly matched. But there was blood all over the place, and John knew it was Ford's. As the two Marines found their feet again, up against the balcony rail, Ford took a hard blow to the head that tilted him back over the edge. In that moment, he brought his P90 up between them and fired right under the new Marine's chin.

It all happened in seconds. As their attacker collapsed on the balcony, John saw a bleeding and nearly unconscious Ford fall into the sea. John fumbled for his radio, "Medical help needed. Ford's injured and fell into the ocean from a balcony, level 12, overlooking East Pier. The Marine he shot is here." He wanted to say the man here was beyond help and they should rescue Ford. Then John knew what he had to do. Facing the Ancient monitoring device by the balcony door as he also spoke into his radio, John said, "I, John Serano, give biolock permission to make recordings from as long as I've been on this balcony public."

Then he climbed up on the rail and tried to keep his body straight as he jumped toward the circles in the water where Ford had gone under.

The impact with the ocean slammed his feet and knees. Salt water stabbed up his nose and stung his eyes. After a blink, John forced his eyes open and stayed as straight as possible. He needed to catch up to Ford, who had fallen before him but would have hit with more resistance given his uncontrolled position.

In moments John felt himself changing, not needing to hold his breath. Instead of seeing, he felt water currents around him. Some were warmer. He pushed toward a warm disturbance beneath him and tasted metal, blood. He swam in that direction and touched Ford's hair first. Shifting down below the streams of blood coming from both shoulder and head, John wrapped his arms around Ford's torso. He kicked for the surface. Returning to where he'd entered the water was almost instinctive.

On the way, he couldn't help thinking that despite their differences, Ford had acted more like a brother to him than Davey.

Only when his head broke the surface did John look around, wondering if he'd be met with help or guns. Luckily it was Carson, who took charge of the situation at once. "Bring him over here, John. Let my people help both of you out and onto gurneys. I don't want any argument about you both coming to the infirmary, right now."

#

Ronon made room at the infirmary door as Carson and his team rushed in with Ford and John on gurneys. Ford was covered in blood. John was covered in heavy blankets up to his nose. Ronon could still see the blue tinge to his skin from his nose to his dripping wet hair.

When Marines tried to follow the gurneys into the infirmary, Ronon blocked their way with his blaster drawn. Carson had asked him to keep the infirmary safe, and that was what Ronon intended to do. He'd even chased out the Guards from in front of the Genii, Trevis', private room. With Ford out of commission, he didn't know whose orders any military other than himself might answer to. He'd minimize risks.

When Rodney showed up, Ronon let him in.

#

For the first time, Rodney was happy to see Ronon practically growling like he wanted to eat someone. There was a mess of Marines in the hall outside the infirmary, at least two of them complaining into their radios, who could only benefit from seeing someone act more intimidating than them.

But Ronon let Rodney in. Perhaps he realized that Rodney could be more dangerous than any number of Marines if blocked in a situation such as this.

Through an interior window, Rodney saw Carson and Biro both scrubbing for surgery on Ford.

John was climbing out of the large scanner with only Marie watching over him. More of his skin was bluer than usual. That wasn't unexpected to those who'd seen him after his time in the pools. Kusanagi had broadcast everything, up to and including John releasing his bio lock and jumping off a very high balcony to rescue Ford. Granted, Ford had rescued John first.

It was interesting that Ford hadn't had to consent to release the footage. Scientifically, and not at all morbidly, Rodney wondered if Atlantis had counted Ford as plausibly dead at that point, like the dead Marine who didn't need to consent either, or if John's super gene had won out once again.

Rodney wanted to believe that John wouldn't have thrown himself into the ocean so carelessly if he hadn't known his gift would let him survive underwater without breathing. But he remembered the idiot rushing in and out of the fire at Serano's Modern Wonders. "You have a reckless disregard for your own well being."

"Good to see you too, Rodney."

"You're bleeding." He waved at the blood on John's arms, chest, and parts of the large scanner. The additional blue in his skin didn't seem worth mentioning.

John looked down at himself and frowned. "I don't think any of it is mine, but I should probably shower and find some dry clothes."

#

Two hours after the Daedalus landed, John was considering making out with Rodney in Carson's office if only to distract the scientist. Rodney had been a good boyfriend and brought John dry clothes before he finished his shower. He'd then tried to insist on rubbing oil onto John's skin afterward, and John had literally had to lock him out of the bathroom to do that himself and shut Rodney up. Since then, Rodney had been flipping through public video and audio feeds provided to his tablet by Kusanagi while offering whatever commentary came into his mind.

"Caldwell has been in Weir's office for over an hour since they sent the last data burst to the SGC. They're still chatting like this is some sort of tea party." Rodney's lopsided frown was more pained than usual. "Chuck has discovered our enhanced life signs readings and is analyzing them on the Gate console. Not like he has a real job anyway. We can call it cross-training." Rodney tapped his feet and then tapped the tablet on his knee. "You would think Carson could at least come out and give us some report. They finished up in there over ten minutes ago. How long can it take to clean up? Oh look, the mail bin is coming this way. You better let our mail in, Ronon. I'm expecting a very important journal article that I am duty bound to correct, assuming the publishers were actually gullible enough to go ahead with it, which they probably were. There's no excuse for the faulty research paradigms that particle physicists outside the Stargate program still accept."

Ronon grudgingly let the Marine delivering the mail, Private Alvarez who was semi-regularly stationed by the infirmary, push a pile of letters and packages through the door. There were still six Marines, four of them from the Daedalus, waiting to one side. They watched silently as Alvarez kept his feet outside of the door without any fuss as he pushed his delivery through. Then Alvarez took off down the hall with the other mail on his cart.

Rodney stomped over to the pile of mail and pulled out two journals and a large envelope for himself. "Guess what, John, you have something, too." He brought a large interdepartmental envelope from the SGC to John as Marie made her way over to sort the rest.

John wondered what anyone at the SGC would be sending him and tried to remember who he spoke with in Antarctica that hadn't come to Atlantis. The address on the line before his name was O'Neill's. John opened the button and string enclosure and a thick parchment envelope slid out. The triangular flap on the back was black and engraved with the Sheppard Industries logo. Undoubtedly, it was the formal announcement of his father's death.

Stepping aside to a small table by the wall, John set down the outer envelope from the SGC and then the largest engraved envelope with the black flap. Inside there was a slightly smaller matching envelope with only his name on the front. Inside of that was a black-edged, folded card with a response card and another small envelope inside. John set all but the folded card down on the small table.

His eyes start to blur as he tried to read, "The Sheppard family announces with great sadness…"

The next thing he knew he was collapsing on the floor, his body shaking uncontrollably. Everything around him grew very bright.

#

"Carson!"

The doctor dried his hands as he ran out of the surgery prep room. He'd been on his way already, but the pitch of Rodney's voice suggested a panic attack or worse was imminent. He didn't expect to see John writhing on the floor in a cylinder of light.

"That's a security forcefield for some sort of decontamination protocol. What happened?" Carson asked.

He heard people jump to their feet in the hall and saw Ronon out of the corner of his eye, still guarding the door. Rodney and Marie were standing just outside the decontamination zone that surrounded John and a small table at the edge of their waiting area.

"I don't know. We were sorting the mail. He had a letter," Marie said.

Rodney simultaneously demanded, "Do something!"

Carson grabbed his hand scanner from the surgery prep area and pointed it at John as he said, "Rodney, I need you to sit down. If you pass out or hyperventilate, it will interfere with helping John."

The fact that Rodney sat could be a testament to his concern for John. The way he scrambled at his tablet suggested he'd snapped back into work mode and was trying to call up technical data on whatever Atlantis was doing. Either way, Carson was reassured and focused on the medical data provided by his scans. "Atlantis has identified the poison and is neutralizing it on all exposed surfaces."

"What about inside John?" Rodney asked.

"He only touched it with his hands, right?"

Rodney waved his tablet through the air almost cracking it on the chair next to him. "I don't know. I wasn't watching. And I was the one who wanted our mail. This is all my fault. Except it's clearly his family's fault. That's a funeral announcement. What kind of egomaniacal asshole poisons a funeral announcement?" The anger in his voice changed to worry in an instant. "John's turning bluer again. He'd been back to normal before. Is that defensive or does his body think he's drowning?"

As Rodney subsided into another frantic search on his tablet, Carson saw through the cylindrical glare that John's right hand and arm, the side that was usually not blue, had turned almost as blue as the other side. He brought up results for the full body scan after they'd pulled John out of the ocean two hours before, and John's right hand had been noticeably less blue then. His face had been slightly blue before and didn't appear to be anymore, but that could be a trick of the light. His synaptic connectivity had been up to 72 then, and Carson wondered what a scan now would show. Unfortunately, he couldn't touch John to move him to the large scanner or offer any other treatment. "His pulse is calming. I think the seizure is ending."

Carson's data popped up a picture of an ugly multiheaded sea slug or anemone of some kind. "Nearest known toxin comes from a sea creature. Eighty percent match, but it's supposedly extinct."

"One step ahead of you," Rodney said. "An Ancient water mutant had a closer match, ninety-two percent. He had venom sacks inside his mouth, and look at that, he could stay under water indefinitely."

"You think John poisoned himself?" Carson asked.

"No, even he isn't that stupid. And if he had venom sacks in his mouth, one of us certainly would have noticed." Rodney hunched deeper into himself. "I bet it's that McKenzie guy. He became some evil mutant terrorist, right? I bet he's working with John's brother. They suspected some connection to the family from way back."

"Well, whatever the connection is, it may have saved John's life. Atlantis is saying the poison would be lethal to an Ancient or to us. But John's body, along with the decontamination protocol, seems to have taken care of it." The cylinder of light disappeared. "That area should be safe now."

Rodney was already on the floor, cradling John to his body.

Carson decided to make the best of it. "Thank you for the help, Rodney. Could you lay him down on the large scanner?"

The scanner claimed John was perfectly healthy. His neural connectivity was up to 73.

As they moved him off the scanner Rodney was muttering, "Don't you even think about Ascending, John. Daniel's proved it's not worth it, and we have a lot of stuff to figure out here on Atlantis before anyone takes off like that."

Carson prepared a carefully edited report to be sent to Earth. He didn't include any of John's medical data and only a little about Atlantis' decontamination protocols. But he made it very clear why they suspected the poison might trace back to McKenzie who might be plotting with David Sheppard. He included photos of all the envelopes John had received and asked Weir to send his report out right away.

When John woke up his first question was, "How's Ford?"

"Alive, thanks to you." Carson passed John a glass of water and was pleased to see the young man's hand was perfectly steady. It wasn't very blue anymore either. "I can tell you more once he's awake. For the time being, I'd like to see you eat an MRE or two."

"We're back to just MREs?" John asked. He rolled his eyes at Rodney who was standing nervously by his side.

Carson took the empty glass from John. "Somehow I'm not inclined to have anything else delivered to the infirmary today."

#

Ronon was standing in the infirmary doorway when the door tried to close. Doors at both ends of the hall slammed shut. Ronon held his position.

Possible attacks, defensive positions, and escape routes flashed through his mind as the Marines in the hall jumped to their feet. Ronon was ready to commit to stepping outside the doorway with a vent close behind him when a forcefield appeared. It separated the Marines from the infirmary door. At the same time, the doors at the opposite end of the infirmary hall opened. Ronon swung his blaster around, but there was no one there.

The chatter over the radio in his ear soon proved that neither the visiting nor the expedition military knew what was going on. Then he heard Kusanagi. It took a moment to realize she was speaking to his radio directly. "Ronon, is the infirmary safe?"

Not wanting to give away who he was talking to, Ronon only responded, "Yes."

"Are Rodney, Carson, and John all there?"

"Yes."

"Could you ask them to call me from someplace secure using Rodney's tablet?"

"Yes."

#

After huddling with John and Rodney in his office for a bizarre video conference with Kusanagi, Carson scripted a public announcement while John and Rodney set off for the Gate Room. Carson had suggested Ronon go along to protect them, but Ronon insisted Atlantis clearly had better security plans than all of them put together. So Ronon remained on guard at the infirmary promising he would help in anyway necessary.

Carson composed and then read his announcement over the Atlantis public address system.

"This is an announcement to Atlantis expedition members and all visitors currently on Atlantis from Dr. Carson Beckett, the highest-ranking member of the command staff currently available. First, I would like to assure you that to the best of my knowledge we are all safe. Various automated security measures, new and Ancient, have been triggered by recent events. If any of you are not in a situation you believe will remain safe for the next hour, please feel free to contact me directly at the end of this announcement."

"At present, the expedition's military commander, Captain Ford is recovering in the infirmary. I have been informed that Sergeant Stackhouse is next in command. Dr. Weir's office is sealed, and that appears to have instigated the current lockdown after the following threats were made by Colonel Caldwell. I will be playing a recording of the actual event in a moment. We are waiting for clarification from the SGC, but whatever happens, I would like to remind you all that this is a civilian mission and no clauses in our charter allow for the military to take control at this time. I would encourage military personnel from both Atlantis and the Daedalus to consult with Sergeant Stackhouse and keep in mind that no matter your chain of command, orders that sound illegal or unethical become your own responsibility. Begin recording from Weir's office starting 67 seconds before the current lockdown."

The recording played across Atlantis, including broadcast to the Daedalus, with video where appropriate devices were available. Carson wondered if Weir had intentionally kept her glass walled office after she realized Atlantis saw it and the surrounding Gate and control areas as public domain. He hoped so. For the time being her office seemed to be cut off from all communications, although she and Caldwell could be seen seated on opposite sides of a forcefield within it.

In the recording, there was no lockdown yet. Caldwell rose from his chair on the far side of Weir's desk saying, "That does it. I have had enough of your lax security. I'm putting this base under martial law with myself in command until we hear back from Earth."

Weir sat calmly in her desk chair. "I think we both know Earth is ignoring our communications because someone there wants to dodge responsibility for whatever happens here. Do you perhaps know who those players are? Do you have sealed or confidential orders like your Marine, the one who shot the rightful military commander of this base?"

"I do not need orders to take command in times of civil unrest."

Weir widened her eyes, "What civil unrest? One Marine shot someone and another delivered a poisoned letter, perhaps unknowingly. Both issues were resolved calmly by our Head of Science and Medicine, with no need for military assistance." The look Weir gave the Colonel became a little more pointed. "You don't have a line in our charter to stand on, and don't you imagine for one moment that this being a civilian command means you can bully me or any member of this expedition."

Caldwell drew his sidearm and Weir's office door slammed shut as a forcefield formed between the two of them. In the background, the heavy doors off the Gate Room could be heard closing as well. From Kusanagi's data, it was clear the lockdown spread outward from there in seconds. Most communications seemed to still be active, although nothing was coming through from Weir's office. Possibly only Caldwell was locked out and Weir was playing the same game of deferring responsibility as she'd accused someone at the SGC of playing.

Carson had done the best he could with the situation. When no one called him claiming they wouldn't be safe for the next hour, he went back to checking on his patients. If he stopped to chat with Ronon and let the man reassure him that his performance had been fine, that could be considered part of making his infirmary rounds.

#

When the transporter took them to the exit nearest the Gate Room, Rodney followed John through a hall divided down the center. First a forcefield trapped some expedition members on the right side, with convenient access to a bathroom. Later, a forcefield kept two Daedalus men safely to the left with access to a balcony. Rodney guessed forcefields would close in the balcony if they tried to escape, but possibly not if they needed to relieve themselves over the side. Rodney didn't want to think about Atlantis allocating different facilities based on the presumed needs of those trapped by a forcefield. The possibility that those who'd live on Atlantis for a while were given nicer facilities in general led his minds to even more arguments for Atlantis having an artificial intelligence after all.

It was true that he and John had added protocols for using forcefields to automatically and non-lethally protect people in various situations, like when Caldwell pulled a gun on Weir. Kusanagi had increased the tracking of strong gene holders, which could have triggered a lockdown of the Gate Room, Chair, or ZPMs if someone from the Daedalus had tried to access something they shouldn't. Carson had even helped translate some medical applications to offer security against certain mutant powers.

But none of that explained the doors opening onto a Gate Room where a zig zagging containment area allowed Chuck and three science staff access to all the necessary consoles while no one from the Daedalus had access to anything. It was worth noting that while the expedition Marines assigned to guard the Gate still had access to their normal positions and what passed as a break room, they were currently separated from the Gate by a forcefield. In fact, until John and Rodney walked in, no one had access to the area right around the Gate.

As soon as John entered, a narrow console rose very near to the base of the Gate, where John had insisted they look for what he'd called the Lantean lockout device before they'd been interrupted by a surprise immigrant from the Genii.

Immediately, all eyes were on John.

Caldwell started pounding on his part of the window wall of Weir's office. It was either a property of the window or some extra forcefield that no sound from his pounding made it through.

John looked to Rodney, who could only shrug. "I think we all know that's for you."

#

The Lantean lockout device connected with John before he touched it, before he'd even realized what it was. It wasn't as demanding as the control chair. He suddenly knew he could shut down Atlantis with a thought. All he could think was, "I don't want this power."

"You're already attuned to us," came a reply in a format he only vaguely recognized. It was the layer of coding they hadn't been able to interpret. This was the secret to the parts of the quarantine and sanctuary protocols they couldn't decipher. Except it was part of how his brain worked. It always had been. Like a language he could recognize spoken but not written, it only made sense once the other minds were connected to his.

"Are you getting any of this, Rodney?" John asked.

"No, Mr. Super Gene. The rest of us have no idea what going on." Rodney's banter was somehow steadying to John.

"It's not about the ATA gene, not really." As John spoke allowed, he understood. He kept speaking to retain his own sanity. "We're not dealing with an artificial intelligence. It's more like a few gifted who formed natural attachments to the city stayed part of this after they Ascended. When I die, wherever I am, however it happens, I will Ascend and be part this as well. I sort of already am or it's already happened. These Ascended are the extra layer of code we couldn't decipher, and they don't perceive time and causality quite the way humans do."

"Meaning, if someone from Earth kills you, they'll decrease their chances of controlling Atlantis or containing you?" It took John a long time to realize it was Grodin who'd spoken and that he was trying to make a helpful point. Somehow John knew his response still wouldn't sound delayed to those listening, and he left out the qualifier that he probably wasn't capable of Ascending yet.

"I think that's how it works. And now that I've found this, Atlantis is sort of locked onto me and I can access this lockout mode at any time." John became aware of his body again and realized he was standing stiffly in front of the new device. He forced himself to relax and turn more towards Rodney as if they were carrying on a more normal conversation. "Anything else we need locked up? I could lock out all Earth devices or anyone with administrative privileges we'd like to revoke."

"Can you tell if anything problematic has been added since the Daedalus arrived?" Rodney kept glancing at his tablet, probably checking in with Carson or Kusanagi, maybe even Zelenka.

John sent all of them and Rodney the list of new devices. "Mostly it looks like a lot of surveillance and spy stuff."

"Do you want to allow that?" Rodney asked.

"Not when they didn't even ask." Whatever John was part of agreed with him. The offending devices were offline instantly. It seemed too fast, and yet, John wasn't worried about making the wrong decision. It was like rescuing people from the fire at Serano's or figuring out how to free people from the nets when they arrived in Atlantis. Sometimes he had to act like a leader to get things done, but he had support here. He knew what to do. "I'm going to send a recording of this to Earth. I need to let them know that the crew currently on the Daedalus will have to fly it to the quarantine planet. This lockout won't end while that ship is here, so we'll send the rest of their people through the Gate to the quarantine site to be picked up there. From now on, anyone wanting to work or live in Atlantis needs to arrive through the Gate. Those interested will have a chance to dial us back and come through from the quarantine planet, but it won't work for anyone previously sent there."

John stepped back farther from the Gate and made sure Rodney was clear of the splash zone as well. "Chuck, would you please send the recording from when I entered the Gate Room until now to Earth. Atlantis' system already contacted someone named Hermiod to share it on the Daedalus."

"Should I keep the connection open for a reply?" Chuck asked.

"Let's stick with whatever procedure Dr. Weir was using earlier."

Chuck dialed the Gate and announced, "This is Atlantis calling the SGC. We are transmitting updated information and will maintain this connection for two minutes awaiting your reply."

In just under two minutes the reply came, "This is General O'Neill." His face appeared on screen, but he was clearly watching something off to the side. "We've had problems of our own here, but could you hold the line while I finish watching what you sent? I'm sure you'd like to catch up with Walter in the meantime."

Walter Harriman, who even John knew was the go to guy for gossip and general information at Stargate Command was gently shoved into view. "Yes, sir." Walter looked directly out from the screen and in his usual efficient manner gave them the rundown. "A little over two hours ago, military forces purportedly under orders from General Ross and a classified program that is possibly also known as the Weapons Plus Program, attempted to interrupt communications to and from Stargate command. While that threat was being creatively contained, another force purportedly contracting with rogue NID agents, not the same ones referred to in any previous reports using that descriptor, attempted to steal information from internal servers. This was made more difficult than usual due to the previously mentioned disruption. However, outside forces, possibly including the NSA and/or the X-Men traced the NID-related attempt back to David Sheppard and a gang of mutants possibly including former Colonel McKenzie. Based on an earlier transmission from Atlantis that we eventually accessed, both Sheppard and McKenzie are also being charged with the attempted murder of John Serano. Further charges based on those transmissions are still being debated, you may be able to hear some of the shouting in the background."

"That went well," O'Neill said as he came back in view of the camera. "I can't officially verify whatever he said or give permission for what you're asking. But Hermiod let us know he's taking the Daedalus to that quarantine planet, and I'm sure the rest of the Daedalus crew would really appreciate whatever you can do to get them back to their ship. Have fun kids. Call again soon. Well, maybe not too soon."

The screen went blank. Chuck said, "My screen says the Daedalus is taking off."

John paid attention to whatever was happening in his mind that he'd been trying to ignore. "That sounds right."

As the ship was taking off, just as gracefully as it had touched down hours before, John's attention was forcibly redirected to an apparently empty area under an overhang in the Gate Room. It had been blocked off with forcefields for no apparent reason.

Turning to Rodney for confirmation he said, "I assume there's at least one life sign in there?"

Rodney checked some readings and said, "Well, isn't that interesting. One invisible person."

The measures they'd enacted to detect mutant threats had been incomplete, but they would have been alerted to someone invisible entering the tower. That meant whoever John was addressing behind the forcefield had arrived with the Daedalus openly and walked in visibly. "Are you just here to spy? Everything you've seen would have been open knowledge to the crew of the Daedalus. And the only place you're going from here is through the Gate to the quarantine planet."

A piece of paper fell to the floor. As it was pushed under or through the forcefield John said, "I really haven't had good luck with notes delivered to me today." Even as he said it, the parts of Atlantis now connected to his mind assured him it was safe. And they were curious.

"I'll pick it up if you want me to," Rodney said.

"It's okay. The gremlins in the code assure me." John picked up the paper and read it in a position where it wouldn't be visible to publicly available surveillance footage:

Greetings,

I have recently become aware of your brother's fire powers and how he has used them, your family's wealth, and your family's business connections to a certain Colonel with water powers and disreputable allies. I believe I have made well educated guesses as to your interests in this and am attempting to work with the proper authorities. If you should wish for help with legal proceedings or a channel of communications with powered individuals pursuing more positive agendas, please send a reply on the back of this note or with our messenger.

Yours sincerely,

Dr. X

PS- There's a corporal in the Daedalus infirmary who fell down some stairs. Anyone checking his phone will find he planned to kill you to collect bounty money from your brother.

 

The PS was in a different hand, presumably added by their helpful gifted messenger. The voices in John's head were excited to open relations with the gifted on Earth who saw themselves as "pursuing more positive agendas." They even had ideas for how to send messages back and forth whenever the Gate was open. John wasn't so enthusiastic about the Ascended code that was playing the role of voices in his head and didn't want to be rushed. There would be time after the lockdown to decide about contacting Dr. X and also to pass on the information about the bounty hunter in the Daedalus infirmary without implicating their source.

"Okay, okay, okay," John said. Looking into the empty space on the other side of the forcefield. "Look, everything that happens in this room is sort of public record. I think there's a way we can communicate later. Will you be alright going through that Gate and then back on the Daedalus?" John shook his head. "You're either not talking because you can't or because it might identify you. Great. I'm going to assume you have an exit strategy that won't be blown by anyone guessing I'm talking to an invisible person. If I'm wrong, pull the note back."

John put the note back on the floor and was able to push it partway through the forcefield. Nothing pulled. It was rather anti-climactic. That was more than fine with John.

After that it was simply a matter of letting the Lantean Lockout Device put itself away. It didn't completely cut off the voices in his head, but they were more like a station of radio static where he could tune the static in louder if he so chose. He moved aside and watched doors and forcefields readjust to funnel all their newest visitors out through the Gate.

When the Gate closed, John whispered to Rodney, "I just realized we never sent that last message to the quarantine site. They were probably confused by all these people coming through."

Rodney leaned in closer, pushing his arm up against John's. "Let Weir deal with it. That's her job, and you look exhausted."

John nodded and sent Weir a message about the corporal in the Daedalus infirmary as well. That gave him an idea. "If we go to the infirmary, we can check on Ford, and Carson will probably order me to rest for 12 or 24 hours."

"Sounds like a plan. Let's go before Weir tries to call a meeting."

#


	4. Chapter 4

**Epilogue: December, 2009- Atlantis on Earth**

In an authoritative voice Ronon heard mostly on her YouTube channel, Kusanagi told General O'Neill, "I have made extensive arrangements with my contacts for Ronon and me to take part in a workshop led by Lin Manuel Miranda. His current project is of great interest to the Atlantis Arts Council."

"Which is still classified." O'Neill leaned back in his Atlantis meeting room chair and raised his cup. "I don't suppose any of this Atlantis grown coffee is available for trade?"

"I had intended to send a large crate as a gift for Daniel Jackson." Kusanagi narrowed her eyes. "But perhaps you'd like to deliver it yourself?"

Even Ronon, who hadn't met Jackson yet, understood what Kusanagi was implying with that one.

As O'Neill gave the briefest of nods, Kusanagi continued, "My projections suggest the entire Stargate Program will go public within five to ten years. Ronon will need contacts to launch his music stories and certain interglobal projects we're developing in Pegasus."

O'Neill did not ask about Kusanagi's contacts or projections. He probably knew she could hack her way through the SGC system without the help of Atlantis' Ascended Intelligence. As far as Ronon could tell, being a three-star General meant they sent O'Neill out to yank people's chains and sample their meeting snacks. "Just because the guy performed at the White House doesn't mean he'll be a useful contact in five to ten years."

"He is passionate about history and art. He has the makings of a master bard." Ronon leaned into the table as he spoke, but the General didn't even twitch.

"You think? And why's Carson going?"

Carson sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, displaying the anklet with many metal beads that he wore. "I've always wanted to see New York City and Broadway."

O'Neill shivered melodramatically. "I'll make plans not be anywhere near New York while the three of you are there."

#

"Why would you want to take my last name?" Rodney's flail sent water splashing across the pool. It was still strange to John to see Earth stars while soaking in the Atlantis pools.

"I hate both my last names. You need to learn about sharing." John poked playfully at Rodney's ribs.

"What about Sheppard Industries?"

John rubbed Rodney's knee beneath the warm water. "They can have the name. Xavier and the kids will keep running it for their work study program. Atlantis only agreed to stay on Earth as long as Ronon needs to visit New York, and the Lanteans native to Pegasus have already been very patient."

One of Rodney's hands settled on John's thigh in a move that was still far from smooth. "Did you choose Montreal for Ronon and Carson's convenience?"

"Partly. It has to be in Canada, and I was thinking of a Cirque du Soleil themed wedding. Jeannie says they're based out of Montreal."

Rodney gaped at him. John leaned in and kissed him, licking deep into his open mouth.

"I should never have introduced you two. And no negotiating the wedding while making out!"

"What's to negotiate? Cirque makes for better party favors than a bug theme. Oh, and I'm inviting both Ford and Weir. Atlantis can go into lockout while we're away, if anyone tries to take advantage of the lack of command staff."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "I think they know better already. Atlantis is okay with this?"

"They want us to take a cloaked Jumper to relay video of the wedding."

"They being the voices in your head?"

John tangled their feet together. "We agreed to call them 'like minds.'"

"That agreement doesn't count," Rodney protested. "You were blowing me at the time."

"It had nothing to do with wedding plans. I'm allowed. Want me to turn up the bubbles and blow you within sight of the Golden Gate?" John had discovered many advantages to not needing to breath when underwater and trusted Atlantis to protect their privacy.

"Best idea you've had all day, future John McKay."

 

The End


End file.
